Ordinary World
by HLynn
Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. The Scoobies have to face the results of their actions, and Drusilla's fate is decided.
1. The Worse for Wear

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Website: http/members.

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Takes place after Wrecked, but turns into an AU future Season 6 fic from there.

Author notes: This was originally posted as a WIP (work in progress) at but this is the final and complete version. The title and lyrics come from the Duran Duran song "Ordinary World", as a way to set the tone of the story. And most importantly, thanks for taking the time to read the story--hope you like it as much as I had fun writing it. :)

Disclaimer: Yeah, I hear there's something called a "copyright", along with the notion that Buffy and Spike aren't real and are actually _owned_ by someone. What's that all about?

* * *

**Chapter 1 - The Worse for Wear**

* * *

"But I won't cry for yesterday

There's an ordinary world

Somehow I have to find

And as I try to make my way

To the ordinary world

I will learn to survive"

* * *

Spike listened to the sounds of Buffy training from the Magic Box alleyway, the muffled thuds of her fists hitting the sandbag, the mild grunts and cries she gave while holding back her true wrath on the poor, innocent sack of sand and leather. Not even it could withstand the force of her true blows...unlike him.

After the sex--the amazing, great, wonderful sex, Spike mentally added--he and Buffy had shared, she'd gone into some sort of retreat. He was fine with it for several days, waiting for her to finally come to him and admit to her feelings. What he hadn't counted on was that when she turned to him at last, nothing much had changed. She was still wanting him only in the physical sense, and he found his own resistance had atrophied in the span of days, as well.

The second time, or rather, the second set of times had been just as marvelous. Even better, since it was at his crypt and not an abandoned warehouse. But once again, the morning after left her ashamed, and him angry for letting himself be used again in a moment of weakness.

He knew better, he really did. They couldn't go on this way, pushing each other away only to come back together, no better or worse than before. Maybe he was doomed to love a woman that didn't love him back...maybe it was his own personal gypsy curse, he thought sourly.

Lost in his own thoughts, he tamped out the cigarette and sighed in resignation, completely unaware that the sounds of Buffy's fists hitting leather had long since died away.

"What are you doing here?"

Spike jumped at her voice, clear and strong in the quiet of the alley. She might have been angry, but it barely showed; fatigue and tiredness had won for this night.

"I'm just having a smoke. Which I've finished, and so now I'll be moving along." He started to leave, but hesitated at the lack of bitchiness and venom being thrown his way. Fear trickled in, and he wondered if she'd been finally pushed too far, to the point of apathy.

"Anything wrong? You look and sound mighty tired," he offered casually, as if it wouldn't hurt him if the answer was a flat 'no'.

Buffy sighed deeply, resigned, then replied, "I miss the simpler times. When it was 'you, enemy, me Slayer', and I knew what to think of you. You were annoying Spike, nasty Spike, vulgar Spike...and then, you were ally Spike. Comforting Spike. I had you all figured out, and in my nice little mental filing system you were under 'Vampire Who Helps Out A Lot'." She smiled briefly at that, and he wished it could have stayed for awhile longer.

"Then you fell in love with me, and it threw everything out of whack. I didn't know what to do, or if I could trust you...I wasn't sure of anything, anymore. But you were right, earlier. Things _did_ change after that. And when I came back, you were there, protecting Dawn like I asked and helping my friends with slaying. I felt like...here's the Spike I know. This is the guy I can deal with. And I went back to the old pattern of relying on you. This time, however, it was more complicated--I just wanted to believe that it wasn't. That things could go back to the simpler times.

"But they can't, of course. Especially not now," Buffy said, the look on her face unreadable. "We've had sex, multiple times. But in the end, that's all it was."

He narrowed his eyes, "Not for me it wasn't, love. And as much as I think you'd like to believe it, it wasn't for you, either."

She blinked first, her arms crossing in a defensive posture he knew all too well. "You wish."

"Oh come on, Buffy. Don't tell me that wasn't the best you've ever had--"

The back door swung open, revealing Xander standing in the opening, stunned at finding the two of them outside. With a bit of confusion and a hint of anger, he asked, "Don't tell him _what_ was the best you've ever had, Buffy?"

A deer in headlights would've looked less shocked. "Uh...Tandoori Chicken. We, um, were arguing about take-out from a few days ago."

At her quick yet withering glance, Spike decided discretion was the better tactic, after all. "Uh, yeah. That's it. She won't admit it how good it was."

Xander looked at her as if she was a fool for arguing about something so tiny, and Buffy found herself replying, "Okay, fine. It was good. It was great, it was _amazing_...Tandoori Chicken. But a gal can't live on a diet solely comprised of Tandoori Chicken, because...because it's just not healthy!"

"I'm not asking you to live off of it forever, pet. I like variety, same as you. There's other things besides...Tandoori Chicken, you know," he answered back, just barely able to keep from rolling his eyes at the spectacle they were making.

"Your selection of restaurants leave something to be desired, Spike."

"O-kay!" Xander interjected. "You know, as fascinating as this is, I just came out here to let Buffy know that Dawn called to ask if she can go study at Melissa's house."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But no later than 9:30, since it's a school night."

"Thank you," Xander replied a sigh of gratitude, and headed back into the magic shop, leaving the two alone.

"That was a disaster narrowly averted," Buffy sighed, sagging against the alley wall.

"Yeah, heaven forefend that your mates find out about us," Spike muttered, not able to look at her. "Your stellar reputation would be ruined, wouldn't it?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes, definitely not pleased. "What are you implying?"

"Well, you aren't Miss Prim 'n Proper, no matter how you like to think you are. There's no shame in it, love. Hell, Harris and his ex-demon are shacked up together, Will's on the other side of the tracks now that the werewolf left, and you're all upset about feeling something for a vampire? Compared to this bloody town, I'm downright normal!"

"I'm not grading on a curve, here," Buffy replied, wondering why that sounded so familiar.

"You seem to forget that the only thing keeping _you _from being pegged the freak is by living in Sunnyhell," he answered bitterly. "If you settled in Nebraska somewhere, you'd be the one on the outside, Slayer."

"I already am," she said distantly.

Whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips. Spike looked into her eyes, finding the hurt and pain there, and felt his own pain at seeing her so distraught. "I know what it's like, to be on the outside looking in. It's never fun."

"Not by half," she mused. Were they bonding, now? It was hard to tell, with the way their relationship resembled the weather in London. Wait five minutes, and it changes.

Spike seemed to take a moment to collect his thoughts, then ventured, "If you're done with punching something that doesn't punch back, maybe we could get in some real fighting?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked, trying to decipher the double meaning inherent in nearly everything he said. "I hope you mean patrolling."

"Well, yeah--what else would I...oh," he stopped, thinking back on what he said. "So, what do you say? Nice night for a good round of slaying."

Buffy sighed, wondering at how twisted her life had become when patrolling for demons and vampires in a cemetery, with a vampire lover for company, began to sound good to her. "Sure. Let's go."

* * *

This particular night ended up being rather quiet--No big surprises, no alarming trends. The new villain in town was only a Draaku demon, which had a penchant for talking a bigger game than it could deliver. Most of his subordinates fled at the sight of the Slayer and a leather-clad vampire busting in on their meeting, disappearing into the tunnels beneath the crypt they'd used for a headquarters. Those who didn't ended up lying in a pool of their own blood, and the Draaku found that Spike wasn't any less of an opponent than the Slayer, much to his mortal chagrin.

After dumping the demon bodies in a far corner of the cemetery, Buffy decided to head back home before she started thinking that a stop-over at Spike's crypt wouldn't be so bad, if he suggested it. Or maybe even if he didn't. It wasn't like there was anything else for her to do tonight, and she felt a powerful urge to act on her idle thoughts. She just as quickly squashed them as she recognized that dangerous yet exquisite path, and headed to the entrance of the cemetery in all haste.

Spike noticed her retreating form as he contemplated taking a wicked looking scimitar, then discarded it as too flashy for his tastes. He wiped the last of the demon blood from his coat and hands before following, only slightly annoyed at the fact that Buffy hadn't bothered to wait for him.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, seething, then called out after her. "Buffy! Wait--"

His sentence was cut off by the well-placed kick to his lower back. He fell and rolled into a better position for defense, shunting the pain into a corner of his mind. His eyes widened when he counted his foes. Not one, but five vampires came out of the shadows around the crypt, carrying pipes and various weapons, and he could sense three more coming from behind.

Damn it. If there were eight on him, how many on the Slayer...? He spared himself a second to glance her way, but couldn't see her. Maybe they didn't know she was here. He swallowed his impulse to yell out, tell her to run for it, in case he was right.

"Well, isn't this cozy? I almost feel important," he tried, and received a lead pipe to the stomach for his trouble.

"Grab him," one of them ordered, carrying a sword in his right hand and a small dirk in his left, looking very much the picture of the newest Big Bad in town. Spike noted he wasn't any larger than the others, but he had the charisma of a vampire who'd been around for more than a couple decades.

The fight was messy and ended quicker than Spike had hoped. He fought valiantly but futilely against his attackers, until the numbers overwhelmed him and his arms were pulled behind his back, held in the powerful grip of more than a couple vampires.

The numerous arms holding him pushed forward, until he was forced to kneel on the ground in submission. His thoughts scattered--this wasn't a snatch-and-grab, so it only left one possible outcome. And if Buffy was gone, there was no one coming to his rescue. No one.

Spike's gaze was fixed on the long blade. So, it was going to be a beheading, was it? He almost chuckled nervously at his dilemma. He'd never thought he would go this way...there wasn't any blaze of glory, no fist and fangs in a dark alley. Just a vampire mob who'd gotten fed up and decided to gang up on him. It didn't seem fair.

"What's with all the posing, Ash? Let's kill him already!" A minion on Spike's right asked, and he smiled when the leader gave the loud-mouth a cruel look. If Spike's nom de guerre was considered unorthodox by vampire standards, this bloke's name was downright scandalous.

Ash sheathed the sword in a scabbard slung over his shoulder and took out a small glass vial from his jacket, filled with a green liquid that gave off a faint glow in the darkness. Spike frowned in confusion as he noticed the heavy work gloves the other vampire was wearing, then balked as the vamp leader poured the glowing liquid onto the blade of the dirk, making sure it was coated thoroughly.

Now completely baffled, Spike gave another try at pulling free, but was still stuck tight in the grip of his vampire attackers.

"Do you know what this is?" The leader taunted him, holding up the near-empty vial in one hand. Spike shook his head, hoping to draw this out farther. Maybe Buffy noticed he wasn't following, and doubled back...

The vampire named Ash looked as if he was about to explain, then shrugged and tossed the vial at one of the minions. The vampire dodged it in a panic, as if it were holy water or flaming pitch.

What would make a vampire flinch like that? As the leader tightened his grip on the dirk, Spike realized with a sickening horror that he was about to find out. The tip of the dirk pierced his skin just below his neck, and the vampire trailed it across, cutting a shallow line into his flesh. The green liquid oozed into the cut, causing him to feel odd, disconnected. A light flared, then a throbbing pain began to blossom, creeping out to every nerve ending. He gritted his teeth as the pain increased, hoping this wasn't the way they planned to kill him.

Ash laughed at his reaction. "You're feeling it already, aren't you? Well, don't worry--the experience isn't going to last long."

The vampire pulled the sword back and hefted it, as if in preparation for a swift, plunging movement, then illumination crossed his ugly visage. "Hold on, boys. I just had a better idea. Why let all that blood go to waste?"

Spike blinked in confusion, until he felt a warmth suffuse through his entire body...and then a bizarre pulsing started from within his chest. His eyes widened, as he realized too late what the vampire leader meant.

"No..." he whispered, despair trickling in and taking hold. "Buffy!"

The leader's hand wrapped around his neck tightly, the sword and dirk forgotten in the thrill of Spike's fear. "Now, we'll be having none of that," Ash growled triumphantly, narrowing his eyes at a leftover streak of blood, a reminder of the partly-healed gash. "Human."

Spike gurgled for air, trying to break free, but it was useless. The vampire leader's fangs sank into his neck, and he tried to scream, as fire and ice burned through his veins and he recognized the feeling that he was dying, all over again.


	2. Keeping Vigil

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S.

Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Takes place after Wrecked, but turns into an AU future Season 6 fic from there. Disclaimer in Ch. 1

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Keeping Vigil**

* * *

She knew that she shouldn't wait for him, knew that he was likely taking his own sweet time in checking the demon bodies for items of value, but something made her stay. Maybe she wanted the companionship he offered, or maybe there was another, darker reason she waited by the gate, wishing he would show up, already.

Buffy twirled a stake in her hand, then sighed. "All right, I'm going to check on you, Spike. Not that I'm worried or anything," she muttered to herself.

She'd only taken a few steps when she thought she heard her name called. That sounded like Spike, and he was...scared? Panic set in, and she ran the rest of the way, hoping it was a hoax. He was joking around, he had to be...

Then she came around the edge of a crypt, and stared in horror at the scene. Eight vampires were huddled around, with Spike kneeling limply while some vampire was biting him. Without bothering to try and figure it out, Buffy stormed in, ready to fight all of them if necessary.

The one biting Spike turned around and grinned evilly, then let him go. The others holding him up dropped him instantly, and Spike fell to the ground limply, unconscious. Buffy tried to ignore how pale his skin was, reassuring herself that Spike wasn't dead--he couldn't be, not if they were just drinking his blood.

"Guys, I don't know what kind of kinky vampire thing you're doing just now, but I aim to stop it," Buffy announced, and three of the minions swarmed her, hoping their numbers would take her down.

However, her anger was honed to a fine edge, and they didn't stand a chance. Within seconds they were dust, and Buffy advanced on the remainder of the group, itching for a fight. She spared a glance at Spike, and worry started to gnaw at her stomach as he continued to stay still.

The one who'd bitten Spike grabbed a sword and dirk from the ground, preparing to fight. "It's no use, Slayer. He's already dead."

"Yeah, I know that, you dimwit." Two more rushed her, and after a short parry, they joined their comrades in a cloud of dust. "What I can't figure is, why bite another vampire? Isn't that kind of pointless?"

"It is," the one with the sword answered, and she got a very bad vibe. Something wasn't right, and it was crawling around in the back of her brain, trying to get free. Maybe it was the sword and dirk, which brought back unpleasant memories of the Eliminati from over two years ago. Then, she noticed the slight green glow coming from the dirk he held, and swallowed away the dryness in her throat. This guy had done something to Spike beyond just drinking his blood, and the thought of it was making her upset and angry.

The remaining three minions attacked as their leader came forward, and Buffy found herself gaining strength from her anger. She kicked the dirk free of the vampire's grip, then staked one of the minions behind her. She dodged the swing of the blade, which continued through and decapitated another minion. The leftover minion panicked and tried to bolt, but she cleanly staked him and turned to face the sword-carrying vampire.

"What did you do to Spike?" Buffy asked angrily, and kicked the vampire in the gut. He doubled over in pain, then straightened up and grinned.

"I think you already know, Slayer. But like I said before, it's too late."

Buffy pushed away the panic welling up inside her, threatening to take over. The vampire growled as he threw himself into the fight, forcing Buffy back towards Spike's prone form. She countered and dodged each thrust, and instinctively took the opening when she saw it, shoving the stake into his heart. The vampire managed to look stunned, yet triumphant, just before he turned to dust.

Buffy turned and kneeled down next to Spike, praying that the vampire had been wrong. She turned him over and saw the bite mark in his neck, then touched the thin, nearly healed cut just below it. His skin was warm, but cooling in the night air. She dug frantically for a pulse, and sobbed in relief when she found it. It was faint and weak, but it was there.

Shell-shocked by the strange turn of events, it took Buffy a few moments to remember to call for help. Dawn had insisted on getting a cell phone despite their money problem, but now she was grateful for the convenience. The 911 operator didn't need a lengthy explanation, thankfully, and told Buffy that an ambulance was already in the area and heading over to the cemetery.

After that was done, Buffy picked him up and carried him over to the gate, knowing that the paramedics would need to work fast. She tried to block out what had happened, that Spike was human and dying of blood loss, that he might die and leave her alone in this world. He was the only one she could stand to be around anymore, and if he died...

No, he wasn't going to die. She refused to accept it. He wasn't even supposed to be alive, and if she hadn't staked that last vampire, maybe she could have forced him to turn Spike back. As that thought settled in, she winced and shoved it into a dark corner of her mind. The human being Spike had once been hadn't deserved to be turned into a vampire. Would she have been able to live with herself, if it had worked?

She made it to the gate and laid him down on the pavement. Her coat was quickly shrugged off, draping it over the former vampire for additional warmth, as she listened intently for the sound of sirens.

His pulse was weaker, and his breathing was growing ever more shallow. Despair began to kick in, and she felt tears well up, unbidden.

"Please don't leave me," Buffy pleaded. "You're the only one I can talk to, did y'know that? If you're gone, I don't...I can't..."

Her voice choked off, and she felt tears sliding down her cheeks. "Why did I run away so fast? I should've been there, I could've stopped it from happening. And now you're gonna...God, please don't let him die. I promise, I'll be better, I'll forgive my friends, just don't take him away, please. Please," she whispered desperately.

A moment of utter silence and stillness passed, and in the distance, Buffy could barely hear the sound of sirens coming closer. In other times it was annoying, or troubling, but now it was the sound of hope, the possibility that someone had heard her prayer, and accepted the deal.

When the ambulance arrived, the memories of what happened to her mother washed over her with a clarity she thought she had managed to suppress. The two EMTs sprinted over, then talked in a medical jargon Buffy didn't understand as they worked to save Spike's life. In a matter of seconds, they had him on a gurney and were taking him over to the ambulance.

Buffy grabbed her coat and followed, not knowing what else to do. Someone had to go with Spike--she couldn't leave him alone, not after what she'd let happen. The EMTs let her come along, and she settled in next to Spike's side, watching as the medics attached IVs into his arms and started giving him blood.

"Is he..is he going to be okay?" Buffy asked weakly, her gaze focused on the former vampire's pale face.

The dark-haired, older one pursed his lips in consideration, then nodded. "His blood pressure's pretty low, but I think we got to him in time. Main thing is to keep his heart going. Looks like he had the barbeque fork special."

"The what?" Buffy said, baffled, then recalled what happened with her mother years ago, and what the doctor had told her. "Oh. Right. Like the cemetery is such a hot spot for picnics and cook-outs."

The other EMT sighed. "Look, I've seen enough in this town to know what really happened. And you seem to know it, too. It's just easier to tell people that it's a barbeque fork, or a wild animal, than some blood-sucking vampire. Besides," he shrugged sadly, "it's not as if we get a lot of live ones."

Buffy nodded sullenly, knowing the cold, hard fact all too well. "And sometimes, it's easier to ignore the truth."

* * *

Nothing bad happened on the way to the hospital, thankfully, and the attending ER doctor had seen enough exsanguinations in his day that he already knew what to do. The nurses assured her that he would be fine, barring any incurred brain damage or organ failure. The fact that he seemed to be responding well was an encouraging sign.

Buffy took a minute to step outside the hospital, to catch her wits and to call home, hoping her sister was home early. The line picked up after one ring.

"Summers residence."

"It's me, Willow," Buffy replied somberly, almost wishing she'd called Xander first. Nevertheless, she told her friend about what happened, relating it in as much detail as she could remember.

Stunned silence reigned for a couple moments, then Willow replied, "Spike's human? How...how did this happen?"

"I don't know, but I think it was something glowy. There's a dirk in the cemetery that's glowing--I think it might be enchanted, or something. I didn't really get a good look. I need for someone to go out there and retrieve it, make sure that no one else gets their hands on it."

"Sure thing. But, who would do this to him? I mean, was it voluntary? Did it hurt him?"

"It was a vampire gang. Don't worry, I took care of them," Buffy answered wearily. "The leader guy was drinking from Spike when I found them, so I didn't see how it happened. But I'd have to say the biting and draining weren't voluntary at all."

"Ah, I see," Willow said, not really understanding. "Dawn just came in, so I'll call Xander and have him go get that quirky dirk."

"Make sure someone goes with him--some of the vamps got away, and if it's important they might come back for it," Buffy replied, wishing again for Giles' presence. He would know what it was, or at least know where to look.

"Gotcha, I'll make sure Anya goes with him for protection. Do you need someone over there, Buffy? Dawn and I could come over and help you wait."

"No, it's okay, Will. Just need to hear what's what from the doctor, and after that I'll be..." she trailed off, not sure what she planned to do. Part of her felt she had to stay, but another part argued that staying wouldn't accomplish anything fruitful. "I don't know what, yet. That's one bridge I'm not crossing early. But the offer is appreciated."

Buffy nearly winced at the lack of sincerity in her tone, but Willow seemed to take it in stride. "Okay then. I'll call you if we find anything important."

She pressed the end button on the cell phone after they shared good-byes, and stared down the alley as another ambulance barreled down, making a frantic dash for the hospital entrance. Sighing, Buffy turned and headed back inside, fearful of what awaited her and apprehensive about this new twist in her bizarre life.

It wasn't hard to find a glowing blade in the dark, Xander discovered to his relief. As soon as he took a look at the dirk, he could see that the glow didn't come from an enchantment at all.

"Looks like glowy green goo," Xander offered to his fiancée, from over his shoulder.

"Yes, it does. But it's demon blood," Anya replied, frowning at the substance. "I think it's from a Mohra demon. They're assassins for hire, but they hardly ever come to this dimension. It's either that, or the menstruating fluid of a female Falgor demon."

Xander took a full step away from the dirk. "Does the...well, do either of them have the ability to do to vampires, what it did to Spike?"

"Not that I know of. But then, I was a vengeance demon...I didn't really hang around with the assassins. No fun at parties at all. It usually led to accusations of who killed who, and then there was bloodshed. And they never stayed to help clean up."

"The fiends," Xander murmured distantly, as she headed elsewhere. "Well, I'll just grab it by the hilt here, where it is _not_ covered by possible femalely goo, and hopefully we'll be able to check the books and see what caused it."

"Hey, there's another batch of it over here," Anya called out softly. Xander came over to see it, and found a glass container, glowing faintly. Some of the thick liquid coated the sides of the glass, but it didn't seem as if it had gotten on the outside. Determining it safe to handle, Xander picked it up as well. He and Anya glanced around for other clues, but came up dry and he shrugged his shoulder.

"Nothing else here but piles of vamp dust and a small patch of blood. Must be Spike's," he added with a touch of disbelief. "If this stuff turns vampires into humans--"

"It could mean the end to staking people we know. Or even people we don't know," Anya finished.

The two shared a serious, thoughtful look, then promptly headed back to the magic shop, hoping that the books would shed light on this new development.

By the time Buffy went back inside and asked about Spike, they had moved him out of the emergency room and into a more private section. When they told her that he was doing well enough to be discharged in a few hours, she realized he'd have to leave a bit sooner than that; he had no papers, insurance or money to pay off the hospital, so it looked like it would be a sneaky escape from the hospital for Spike.

The area he was kept in was mostly a row of beds with sheets drawn around them for privacy. Buffy recognized it from when she'd been in the hospital right before the Ascension, her blood used as the cure for Angel's poison. The place gave her bad memories from that dark time, seeing Faith in a coma, feeling the guilt of putting her there. Now she was here again, with another person to add to the guilt list.

The nurse lead her over to where he was, lying flat on his back and staring at the heart monitor in fascination. A gauze pad covered the bite wound, and he had wires and tubes attached to various places on him, making Buffy doubt that he'd really be ready to go anytime soon.

Evidence of his lack of enhanced hearing showed, as they managed to walk up to him without him even noticing. Buffy felt the woman leave her side to go back to her rounds, but Spike still stared at the monitor, as if trying to divine his future from it. Maybe he was.

"Spike..." she started softly, but in the quiet of the room her voice sounded harsh and intrusive. He jumped slightly, turning his head to focus on her.

"Oh, hi," he offered weakly, and Buffy could now see how sunken his eyes were, how pale he was. He didn't look like a vampire, but merely like a human who'd nearly died from being drained by one. Somehow, that saddened her in a way she didn't want to contemplate.

"How do you feel?"

He blinked wearily, "Better than I ought to, I'd wager. I think they gave me something for the pain. Makes me tired, though."

"The doctors say you might be getting out of here in awhile. Think you can manage that?"

He stared at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then replied, "I don't know. I honestly don't know."

From the way he said it, she knew he wasn't merely talking about leaving. Not knowing what to say, she stood there, fidgeting with her jacket. His voice broke through the silence.

"I have a heartbeat, now. Blood pressure, temperature, all the organs working like they should. But I'm human. Can't fight, can't do the things I used to. I'm a man, not a monster." He shook his head sadly, then looked up at her with eyes that cut through her, "Not monster enough for you. Not anymore."

"Spike, that's not..."

"True? Isn't it, love? I know you, Buffy. The average bloke isn't going to be enough for you."

A small, distant part of her panged with those words. She wasn't sure if it was because it was true, or if she only thought there might be truth to it. Either way, she wasn't going to let him think otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy reached for his hand. It felt cool and dry in hers, but she could sense the warmth radiating from within. His fingers curled around her with a lack of strength she couldn't help regretting.

"Why don't you let me worry about that, 'kay?" she chided with a half-smile.

Willow had told her once, long ago, that it was the sort of smile boys liked. From the way Spike was looking at her now, she allowed herself to believe it did have the suggested power. "Gotta do what I can, I suppose."

"Good. And you're coming home with me, since you're obviously being targeted by the local vamps."

His eyes crinkled with worry. "Are they still out and about? That Ash guy and his mates?"

"I think I got most of them, including Ash, but that doesn't mean some of them won't try to finish the job." She rubbed his hand, trying to reassure him through touch. Lying would've been futile around Spike, anyway.

"I feel so helpless," Spike said quietly, his fear coming through in the way his voice raised, how his hand clasped hers tightly. "I hate this."

"I know. It sucks being strong one minute, then weak the next. But you've got other things now. You can walk in the sun, get a killer tan, have kids,..." She trailed off as a wave of envy washed through her. He had the possibility of a normal life. Spike could be a grandfather, sitting in a nursing home, telling his grandkids about the crazy Slayer lady he knew decades ago.

As if sensing her sudden melancholy, he tugged on her hand. "Hey, now. None of that. If anyone's doing the self-pity party, it's gonna be me."

She smiled softly, grateful for his sense of humor. If there was one person she couldn't imagine brooding for very long, it was Spike. "So, you ready to blow this joint?"

In the end, it proved a little more difficult than Buffy imagined. Spike was too weak to walk very far, so a wheelchair joined the conspiracy. Then they weaved and dodged through the hospital, keeping away from the emergency doctors and nurses who might recognize the former vampire. Finally, they found the main entrance and after helping him out of the chair, they walked out the door and away from the hospital, enough to find a shadowy nook. Buffy pulled out the cell phone and called Xander for transportation.

"Can't Willow do it?" He whined into the phone.

Buffy reminded him why that was a bad idea. He relented, then said, "By the way, we might have our mystery goo narrowed down by tonight. Anya's pretty sure it's Mohra demon blood, but we haven't been able to find a book with a listing of it yet."

"A Mohra demon?" Buffy looked to Spike, who clearly had no recollection of any such creature. But she did. "Ask Anya if it has some sort of jewel or crystal on its forehead."

Silence, then Xander replied, "Yeah, sounds like the same monster. You've run into this thing before?"

"I think so, but it wasn't here." Her mind recalled the time and place she'd last seen it, and a trickle of anger and horror began to seep in.

"It was in LA. With Angel."


	3. Dealing

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Takes place after Wrecked, but turns into an AU future Season 6 fic from there. Disclaimer in Ch. 1

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Dealing**

* * *

Spike watched as Buffy paced back and forth, waiting for Xander to arrive. Something about this demon was making her upset, and he would never let it be said that he wasn't the type to pry.

"Pet, what's the big to-do about this Mohra demon?"

She looked at him, and he could barely make out the sadness in her eyes in the dark. Bloody hell. If it was about Angel, it was guaranteed to make her all sappy-eyed and sniffly, wasn't it?

"It's...the glowy stuff, on the dirk that cut you? It might be the blood from one. And I know that Angel fought one of them when I was over in LA once. He knew exactly what it was, and how it could be killed...and I keep thinking, what if knew about the blood, what it could do to a vampire? And then I start to think--if he did--then why did he keep it a secret? Doesn't he want to be a human? Didn't he want to..." she trailed off, but Spike could fill in the blank.

"Buffy, I've never heard of a Mohra demon. And from what I could hear of your chat with Xander, his ex-demon girlfriend wasn't even sure about it being from a Mohra. Before you start frettin', I think you need to find out what's the what, here."

She rubbed the back of her neck. "You're right. I'm turning into 'worst case scenario' girl, though it's not like I don't have a long, long resume to back me up. Now if only my real resume was as long."

Buffy sat down next to him on the brick half-wall, little more than decorative plant edging for the office building next to the hospital. He picked up one of her hands in his, noting how she didn't flinch at his touch. Maybe she was just tired of the games--he knew he was. But a part of him quietly remarked that it was likely due to his new human status. Spike didn't know if was happy or depressed at the thought.

"Having trouble finding work?"

Her fingers twitched, as if to grasp his hand. "Yeah. Not much in the way of jobs for someone who didn't finish college, and has no useful talents aside from killing and dusting demons."

"I think you've got more talents than that," he replied with a sly smile, feeling a little more himself. She stared at him for a second, then showed the half-smile that had made him follow her out of the hospital, despite his grogginess and lack of strength. At that moment, he had to admit he would follow her anywhere, whether he was a vampire or human, or her human or...something else.

"Anyway, since I'm not about to be _that_ kind of nightly streetwalker, I think my marketable skills are severely limited. It's pretty much either 'Do you want fries with that?' or 'Would you like to apply for our store card and save ten percent?' in my future, I'd say."

He pondered this for a few seconds, then asked, "What were you going to be, before you were the Slayer?"

"Oh, I was so shallow, then," she answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. "I just thought I'd be handed the 'married, two kids, two cars, live in upper class splendor' package on a silver platter. I did like go to ice skating. And sometimes, I used to do sketches. Nothing big, really, just doodling in my school notebook. I was hoping to take an art class in high school, but as it was, I was lucky to graduate."

"Bad grades?"

"No, not really. I did well on my SAT scores, got accepted to a couple good universities, but I went to UC-Sunnydale because of the slaying duties. And that, more or less, was the same reason why I almost didn't graduate--skipped classes plus the rat-like Principal Snyder equals incompletes and expulsion."

He frowned in thought. "Principal Snyder...didn't he get eaten by that big Mayor snake demon?"

"Yeah," she smiled in remembrance, then sobered. "Uh, yes. It was a terrible thing."

"I see," he grinned slowly. "And then you blew up the school. Brilliant. There's your true calling, love--demolition."

She sighed in mock exasperation. Her fingers twitched again, and this time he felt pressure as she slowly furled them around his. They sat there in silence comfortably, expecting Xander to pull up any minute. When he didn't, Spike ventured to speak again, almost afraid to break the peaceful quiet.

"Guess I'm in the same boat as you, now. It's scary...one minute I know what I am, and the next it's all gone. I could still be on the outside, a rebel, not a part of society, but on some level you have to join in or else you become a freak. It's been so long, I've forgotten how..." he paused, wishing he hadn't gone that far. Spike could feel her tensing up beside him, as if coiling to strike.

Thankfully, the sound of a car coming stopped whatever she planned to say, and he never thought he would be glad to see the whelp slow down in front of them. Buffy's hand quickly left his, but before he could mourn the loss, she stood up and held it out to help him up. Not gone, but different. He smiled as best he could, took her hand, and let her help him reach the car. He spread out along the backseat while she took the front, and as soon as the car left the curb, he felt the medication drag him back into slumber.

* * *

"So, how is he?"

Buffy blinked at Xander, then answered. "He's still weak from the blood loss, but he'll be fine."

"No, I meant...as a human, you know? The whole not-dead thing. Is he different?"

"You mean, does he have a soul now that he's human? I don't know. I didn't think to ask him."

"What were you talking about, then?"

"Mostly it was me talking, about my favorite subject--me," Buffy said in self-reproach. She'd been rambling on about herself, and as a consequence had totally forgotten about Spike's new problems. She'd been dead for five months, but he'd been dead for over 120 years. You didn't just pick yourself up and dust yourself off after that. "Spike wanted to know about my job prospects."

Xander seemed to absorb that, as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. "Okay...Spike as a sympathetic, caring, concerned person. Damn."

"What?"

"I'm going to have to be nice to him now, aren't I?" When she flashed him her best incredulous look, he winced. "Sorry. It's just...Spike is human. And not only that, but if we can find out what this stuff is, maybe we can get more, and instead of staking vamps we can be turning them human again. Even Angel."

"Xander..."

"Of course, he may have known about this all along and kept it to himself, as he's been known to do on occasion. Would _not_ surprise me."

"Spike didn't know anything about the Mohra, and he thinks there's a good chance Angel didn't, either. Aside from how to kill them, anyway."

"Spike defended _Angel_?" He shook his head in amazement. "I go away for a little while and everyone gets delusions of grandeur."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

* * *

When Spike woke up, he found himself on Buffy's couch, covered with some sort of afghan. For a brief moment, he thought that the night before must have been a horrible dream. Testing it out, he held his hand out beyond the safety of the couch's shade, and the sunlight met his skin in a decidedly non-fatal way. So, it hadn't been dream.

He squinted at the brightness as he sat up, then realized it couldn't be morning if the sun was coming through the front window. A glance at a clock on the wall confirmed his suspicions--it was well after four in the afternoon. Dawn would be home from school, if she'd gone at all.

Giving movement a try, he eased up into a standing position. He didn't fall down, so he figured it was a good sign. A few steps ended up being no trouble, but he was leaning heavily on the wall by the time he reached the kitchen.

Dawn was hunting for snacks one-handed, the other in a cast with a sling around her shoulder. She was muttering words that she shouldn't really know, but did anyway, as she tried to reach for something in a cupboard.

"Need some help with that, 'Bit?" He offered, and was delighted to see her look of surprise grow into joy.

"Spike! You're okay!" She ran over and gave him her best attempt at a one-armed hug. "We were so worried about you when you wouldn't wake up. Xander had to help wrestle you through the door, even."

He hugged her back, grateful for the worry. "So, where's your sister? It's too early for slaying."

"She's asleep. She spend most of the night and morning hovering over you, but she must have crashed sometime after that." Dawn pulled away, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay? Really okay, I mean?"

He gave her a puzzled look, and she clarified. "I know you weren't really thrilled about your human days, and I couldn't stop wondering today about whether you'd want to...y'know, stay human."

"I haven't really thought too much about it, yet. It's still overwhelming." He sat down at the kitchen island, already exhausted. "What do you say? D'you like me better now that I'm human, or was it better the other way?"

"I don't see much of a change, really. You're still kinda snarky and grumpy. You just can't beat up demons anymore, although I guess people are fair game. And you can go out during the day without turning into a human-sized Hibachi."

"Sounds thrilling," he said blandly, frowning at the rumbly ache in his stomach. Oh yeah, eating. That was a necessity instead of a luxury, now. "I think I'm hungry."

"Oh, the chips!" Dawn went back to the cupboard, and this time was able to pull it out. "Sour cream and onion potato chips. Have you ever had these?"

"A couple times," he replied, already salivating at the smell. He loved to eat as a vampire, but he certainly didn't remember a hunger like this. Not a recent one, anyway. Dawn held out the bag, and he grabbed a couple chips and shoved them in his mouth. An explosion of flavor burst on his tongue, and he moaned in surprise and pleasure. Dawn giggled at the spectacle.

"Oh god...this, this is really...wow. Here, gimme that," he reached for the bag, but Dawn dodged out of his reach.

"Nuh uh. They're mine. You'd just eat them all and get sick."

"Hey now, this is torture! I'm a starving man, here!"

"Then have an apple," Dawn replied, tossing him one from the fruit bowl. With not much choice, he bit into it and gulped down eagerly. The juice reminded him he was thirsty, too, and got up from the stool he was sitting on to rummage through the refrigerator. He grabbed the first liquid he recognized and opened the top. He drank from the carton, washing down the leftover apple and potato chip bits.

"Um, milk. Good stuff." He turned to see Dawn throbbing with silent laughter. "What?"

"M-m-milk--" she managed out before the giggles started. She pointed to her upper lip, and he reflexively glanced around for a shiny surface to see himself in. He paused as he thought it was moot, then remembered that he _could_ see himself now.

The door of the microwave worked well enough, and he stared at the faint reflection, more than a little surprised to find himself staring back. He could see what she was laughing at, the milk had made a faux mustache on his lip. He wiped it off hesitantly, fascinated as his hand appeared in the reflection as well. It brought home the reality that his new humanity was a sealed deal.

Spike turned to look at Dawn, who watched him with watery eyes--from the smile on her face, he couldn't be sure if it was leftover tears of laughter, or not. His own eyes felt the slight prickling of tears, but he blinked them away.

"Um, I oughta get cleaned up, and make myself more presentable. Is that all right?"

She nodded, and he left the kitchen and headed for the stairs, hoping a proper shower would clear some of the cobwebs in his head.

He left the gauze bandage on as he showered, afraid of making things worse by removing it. A quick perusal of the shampoo bottles had him discovering which one was Buffy's, and which one was Dawn's. Willow's shampoo smelled the least girly--some sort of herbal thing--so it ended up being the one he chose. He hoped it was magic-free; he didn't want to contemplate what sort of concoction she might put in her shampoo.

Once finished, he climbed out, the humid air making it harder to breathe. He wiped away the steam from the mirror with his left hand, revealing his face through the damp haze clinging to the glass. It seemed almost dream-like, standing there with a reflection struggling to get through the condensation. He stood there staring for a long time, running his hand over the stubble needing to shaved, then fingered the soaked gauze, the blood now seen through the other side.

Behind the mirror was a cabinet, and Spike rummaged through it until he found a box of sterile gauze pads. After some fiddling, he got the old tape off and onto to the new pad, trying hard to ignore the two red puncture marks in his neck, right next to the faint white ones Drusilla had given him decades ago. He willed his hands to stop shaking as he pressed the gauze over the wound, the agitation causing pain to start once again.

He reached for something to kill the pain; usually it was booze, but Advil would do. The water from the tap tasted metallic, almost like blood, but the thought only made him feel nauseous. Why wouldn't his hands stop shaking?

Spike struggled into his jeans, the damp air making it nearly an impossible task. He left the shirt alone, throwing it over his shoulder, and gathered up his coat and boots before leaving the sanctity of the bathroom, back into a world he wasn't ready for.

* * *

Willow came back from classes to find Dawn in the kitchen, looking through cookbooks. She smiled faintly and called out, "Are you planning on cooking dinner?"

Dawn glanced over, her behavior still a bit chilly to the former witch. "I want Spike's first human dinner to be something good, not leftover pizza and chicken parts."

"Where is he? I noticed he's left the couch."

"He's upstairs in the shower. I think he's still a little wigged about everything," Dawn looked past Willow and noticed a box on the dining room table. "What's that?"

"Oh, I went over to the cemetery and picked up a few things I thought Spike might want. I have to admit, I found a few things I wish I hadn't, but there wasn't any major emotional scarring involved." Dawn smiled a little at the joke, which made Willow feel a bit more comfortable. Things weren't good, but it was getting there.

"Did you bring any of his clothes?"

"I tried, but I couldn't find them. Well, there was a casket on the floor in his bedroom, but I wasn't about to look inside _that_. If Spike wants his clothes, he's gonna have to get them himself."

"You went into his bedroom?" Dawn asked with wide eyes, like Willow had admitted she'd snuck into the boy's bathroom. "What's it like? Creepy?"

"No, it's okay...for a vampire. And I think his bed must've been stolen--there's no way anyone would throw a perfectly good four poster bed in the dump. It's weird to say it, but it was kinda sexy."

"Really? Cool. I knew it would be," Dawn replied with a small smile. Then her face fell. "But he's human now, there's no way he can go back there. Willow, what is he going to do?"

Willow shook her head sadly, contrite. "I honestly don't know, Dawn."

* * *

Barely awake, Buffy felt a weight poised on the edge of her bed, tilting the mattress just enough to make the struggle to stay put not worth it. She relented and fixed a bleary-eyed gaze on the person-shaped presence, still trying to completely wake up.

The events of the night before didn't really hit her until she recognized the white hair and black jeans, then the face staring at her with affection. His shirt was over one shoulder and his coat and boots were by the door. He smelled like soap and Willow's herbal shampoo, and she noted his hair was damp from the shower he'd apparently taken.

Buffy sat up in surprise. "You're awake!"

"Well, yeah. That's a bit obvious, even for you, pet," he smiled, teasing.

"No, I mean--I was supposed to wait for you to wake up, not the other way around." She paused to take in the physique she knew too well, and continued in a weaker voice, "Do you, uh, need a change of clothes?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, eventually I will, but for now I'm good." He looked distracted, and when she figured out where his gaze was going, she straightened her tank top.

"Nothing I haven't seen already, love," he grinned, and she wanted to punch his arm. But she knew physical damage was no longer an option, so instead she gave him a sour look.

It felt almost like old times--less than a day ago--but the restored warmth to his skin belied the notion. Spike must have sensed the shift in her mood, because his eyes quickly left hers, finding something on her nightstand to stare at, instead.

She placed one hand on his chest, feeling the new warmth of his skin and the pounding of his heart. His muscles tightened in a way she loved, and he breathed in quickly, deeply. Her hand traveled down, along his abdomen, taking its own sweet time in its explorations. Spike's breathing became more rapid, and she could tell he wanted to do the same to her.

"You think I'm attracted to the monster?" She asked, as she leaned in closer.

"You, um, have a convincing counter-argument," he replied, slightly out-of-breath and clearly aroused. She loved seeing him like this, finding the combination of being thrown off-kilter and wanting more of her incredibly adorable and irresistible.

Rather than caving in like she expected, he gently pulled her hand away. "We need to talk, Buffy. For real this time."

She bit her lip. "I know. I just wish I knew what to say."

He didn't speak, his thumb caressing the skin beneath her wrist. It took her a moment to realize he was patiently waiting for her to continue. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and tried to articulate what was feeling.

"I'm not sure how I feel--really feel--about you. I didn't know before this all happened," she shook her head sadly. "And now...it's different, but it's the same."

He nodded, and it gave her the courage to keep going. "I know you love me. I think I...like you. A lot. Definitely in a physical way, but you know that. And I can't say the whole strength element wasn't a turn-on, because it was."

Spike's shoulders slumped a little, as if he expected it to be true but had hoped it wasn't. She forged on, hoping her next words would ease the pain. "But, it was so not me, not the person I thought I was. And it scared me. You were bringing out things in me that I didn't know I had, and I wasn't sure I liked. In time, it could've changed but, well, we won't have the chance to find out, will we?

"I want to get to know you, Spike. The living you, with a soul and everything. I want to know..." She breathed in deeply, then exhaled. Boy, this was hard. "I want to know if I can fall in love with you."

He gaped at her, obviously floored. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. Then he smiled, his shock turning to pure joy and amazement. He quickly leaned over and kissed her passionately, claiming her mouth as his. She reciprocated, her hands grabbing around him and pulling him closer.

A muffled cry caused her to pull away; Spike let out a hiss of pain, and she quickly realized that she hadn't restrained her strength. "Oh god--I'm so sorry. I didn't notice."

"It's okay," he replied, giving her a conciliatory smile.

She caught the weariness in his face, and the level of concern she felt for him took her by surprise. He wasn't fragile, but the reminder that he wasn't immortal anymore had hit home. However, it didn't cause her as much pain as she thought it would.

A sudden wave of affection for him caused Buffy to smile back and kiss him gently on the lips. "By the way, lay off the sour cream and onion chips. They're mine."

He looked at her, taken aback, then flashed a predatory grin, and she felt her heart quicken at the sight of it. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, "You'll have to find them, first."

The pillow she threw at him missed by a mere inch, as he made a break for the hallway.


	4. Of Vampires and Men

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. UPDATE, Ch. 4: A crossover with the Angel gang, as the Scoobies try to figure out the true culprit for Spike's sudden humanity. A/N: I made some corrections to the earlier parts, based on the transcript from IWRY. Nothing major, but I needed to fix it for my own satisfaction. :)

* * *

** Chapter 4 - Of Vampires and Men**

* * *

The task of getting Spike's stuff from the crypt wasn't too much of a struggle. Various boxes were filled up, and his TV and bed, along with the scavenged furniture from the dump, were left behind. Afterwards, the gang met at the Magic Box after sunset, planning to take the information they managed to glean from the books they had and apply it to Spike's situation. The object of their inquiry joined them out of curiosity, if not for the sudden need of companionship.

Dinner that night had been one of the best things he'd had in the past 120 years, and he didn't mean the food, although it was good. No, it was the fact that Dawn had taken it on herself to do it for _him_. The conversation had been mostly light-hearted, but he felt a connection with Willow and Dawn that he'd never had before, and never really had with anyone outside of his family. He knew Willow could sympathize with him as he struggled to adjust to being normal and powerless, since she was doing her own version of the same thing. As for Dawn, she could finally show her affection outwardly, without fear of being chastised. In that way, he had no regrets about his new status.

With Buffy, however, his feelings were still mixed. He watched her as she sat at the table in the shop, glancing his way occasionally, smiling sometimes, sometimes not. She told him that she wanted to find out if she could fall in love with him, and hearing those words from her at the time meant so much to him, it was almost more than he could bear. But the elation tapered into melancholy as he mulled it over, and now he wondered if her dedication was merely a way to justify her conscience, before rejecting him.

Still, he didn't plan on giving up, not when she wanted to try. He was going to fight for her, stay with her, even until the bitter end. He wasn't sure what he planned to do with his life, but one thing he knew was that it involved Buffy in some way. He wanted it to be for requited love, but he knew there was a good chance it wouldn't be.

"Has anyone called Giles, yet?" Buffy asked, and Spike's attention was pulled away from himself and back to the outer world. Dawn was still in the next room, doing her homework, he expected. Willow nodded, and Xander looked to Anya, who frowned in annoyance.

"Yes, but he wasn't any more help. Xander and I looked through all the books here, and Giles looked through his collection, but there wasn't anything on Mohra demons, except for the normal one sentence description. 'Very rare demon assassin for hire'. No mention of the blood."

Willow suddenly brightened. "Hey, wait a minute. Buffy, you said Angel knew how to kill a Mohra, right? Maybe he or Wesley knows about the blood. Besides, we ought to tell them about what happened to Spike."

Buffy looked over to Spike, a thoughtful expression on her face. He smiled as encouragement, but he couldn't feel it. He didn't exactly relish the thought of Angel turning human, since he knew who would win the Slayer's affections in a fair draw.

"If nothing else, we can get their collective brains behind this," Xander added. "Just the idea of turning vampires back to humans...it's amazing."

"And if there was a way to change that energy into a spell..." Willow began, but the looks from everyone else at the table stopped her cold.

Then Buffy stared at Willow, in sudden realization. "Oh my god. What _if_ it could be done?"

"No more Slayer?" Xander offered. "Well, maybe not, but definitely no more slaying of vamps."

However, Anya appeared more alarmed than intrigued. "Is this something we should be doing, though? Wiping a type of demon off the face of an entire dimension?"

"It would be saving a bunch of human lives," Xander argued in counterpoint. "I don't see the Powers That Be having a problem with that."

Spike stayed silent, not sure where he stood. He could see Anya's point--messing around with magic on such a large scale would only mean horrible consequences later. And he knew a number of vampires who enjoyed what they were. Hell, it was hard to think of a vampire who didn't. But the boy had a point, as well--it would save countless lives, including those who were vampires, themselves. Most had never asked to be turned, and in fact, shouldn't have been turned in the first place, Harmony being a stellar example of that.

Instead of voicing his opinions, he remained quiet, listening to everyone else hash out the logistics and ethics. Maybe they could come to the right conclusion on their own, and he wouldn't need to display his divided thoughts.

In the end, the issue still remained undecided, but Willow took it upon herself to call Wesley right then and there. The question might be moot if they didn't pinpoint what the substance was, and whether it was able to be duplicated in any way or form.

* * *

Wesley picked up the phone on the third ring, almost too engrossed in his studies to notice it at all. "Angel Investigations."

"Hi Wesley, it's me, Willow."

"Willow! You're calling with good news, I hope."

"Good, and possibly really good. But I need your help with the possibly good part."

"What can I do?" He asked, a little puzzled. Willow went on to explain about Spike, which caused him to nearly fall off his chair. "Dear Lord."

"That's just what Giles said. But aside from knowing it glows, we have no idea what this stuff is. Anya thinks it might be Mohra demon blood, or something from a Falgor demon, but neither ours or Giles' books seem to have anything. We're kind of hoping you might be able to find it."

He was already picking through his books. "I'm glad you thought of me in this, Willow."

"Well, we're also thinking that Angel might know about this, too. Apparently the last time Buffy was in L.A., he killed a Mohra demon, and from what we've managed to find out, it's not easy."

"Mohra demons are regenerative assassins, I believe. Normal attacks won't kill them, it'll only make them bigger, more powerful."

"What doesn't kill them makes them stronger? And here I thought that was just an old self-help cliché."

"Quite. Ah, here we are, the Book of Kelsor," Wesley said distractedly, pulling an old tome from the bookshelf. "It specializes in the more dangerous demons in our world. It's Angel's book, so that might explain why he knew of it."

It only took him a few turns of the page to find the woodcut print of the demon, looking vaguely insect-like. "Here's the text...powerful assassins who are soldiers of darkness, needing vast amounts of salt water to live. Their veins run with the blood of eternity..." He stopped, his mind whirling at the phrase. Blood of eternity--that had to be...

"Wesley?"

"I don't believe it. It's true." Realizing he was getting ahead of himself, he explained, "The blood of eternity means regeneration. And in the instance of vampires, that would mean--"

"Life," Willow finished for him.

"Yes, it would." He felt numb. Did Angel know this, and not tell him about it? It mentioned the way to kill it, but maybe he didn't know what the blood of eternity meant. "Willow, I'll have to call you back. I need to speak to Angel about this. And-and I need to tell him what happened to William th--I mean, Spike. This is...well, it's amazing, especially in light of the birth of Angel's son."

"The birth of Angel's _what?_" Willow cried out, stunned.

Buffy lifted her head up in surprise. "What's going on, Will?"

Willow's eyes were wide, as she listened to Wesley on the other end. "You're kidding, right? I mean, that just can't happen. Yeah, I know, Spike's human, but that's totally diff--wait, what was that about Darla?"

Another long stretch of explanation ensued, making Willow even more stunned, if that was possible. "Oh. Wow. Oh, wow. Hey, wait a second--why am I finding out about this now? You didn't think to call and let us know? Or at least Buffy?"

Now Buffy was at full attention. "What's this about me not knowing?"

Willow gave her a helpless glance, then replied into the receiver, "No, it's okay. I'll tell her. If she has questions, she'll give you or Angel a call, I'm sure. Thanks for checking on this. Bye."

Buffy was in a state of readiness for panic. Hearing birth, Angel, and Darla mentioned so close together had inspired odd and troubling thoughts. Willow turned to her, her face filled with a blend of compassion and worry.

"Buffy, I think maybe we need to talk in private."

"Just tell me, Will. Please."

The former witch exhaled, clearly not relishing her duty. "Okay, but this isn't going to be easy to hear. And you might want to lift that prohibition on booze."

* * *

Wesley found Cordelia with Fred, helping set up the baby area in Angel's room. They'd already gotten the crib built, and were now adding the final touches. "Where's Angel?"

"Down in the basement, training," Cordy mentioned off-handedly, tucking the baby sheets around the crib's mattress pad. "I told him that he had to stay there until we were done. He was driving us crazy."

"Cordy, I just got off the phone with Willow. Apparently, we forgot to tell them about Connor."

She froze in mid-tuck. "Oh God. Angel didn't call?"

Wesley shook his head soberly. "But there's a more interesting reason for why she called. It seems that William the Bloody, aka Spike, is no longer a vampire."

Cordy gave out a short laugh. "So, he finally got dusted?"

"No, I meant he's among the living, as in fully human."

She and Fred gaped in surprise, but Wesley noticed Cordelia recovered the quickest. "How did this happen?"

"The blood of a Mohra demon. Interestingly enough, the information came from one of Angel's books. I have reason to think that..." he trailed off as he saw recognition flare in Cordy's eyes.

"Wes, Angel knows. He told me about it, but it was before you joined, before...Doyle died," she answered in a sad sigh. "There was something about turning back time, and being human for a day. I don't remember it, but if it didn't happen, then I guess I wouldn't, huh?"

"I see," Wesley replied, feeling something not unlike anger boil slowly to the surface. "So all those hours I spent researching the possibility of Angel being turned human as a reward was for naught, since he already bloody knew how to do it himself? And he didn't think to _tell_ me!"

The words echoed in the small room, left unchallenged. Fred shrank slightly at the tone of his voice--he instantly noticed the reaction, and paled. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to--"

"No, don't apologize. You're right to get mad," she replied. "I'd be mad in your place. Heck, I feel a little perturbed, myself." If she hadn't said it in a cheerful voice, he might have believed her.

Cordy placed her hands on hips. "He wasn't supposed to be human, Wesley! It was a fluke, not a 'Powers That Be' thing. He can't be the vampire with a soul mentioned in all those prophecies if he's human, now can he?"

He opened his mouth to protest, then quickly closed it. "You have a point. Conner wouldn't exist, would he?"

"Exactly. Angel's the Champion. He can't be human until the Powers give it to him."

"But why didn't either of you tell me about this?"

Cordy shrugged, and tossed a few stuffed animals into the crib. "Maybe because in the beginning, we didn't like you. It's different now, of course. I have to admit I totally forgot about it. And it's not like you run into Mohra demons everyday around here."

Wesley mulled this over, then sighed. "Well, I wish someone had told me this earlier. When your friend Harmony was here, we could have used Mohra blood to turn her back into a human."

The suggestion made Cordelia sink into the rocking chair in the corner, anguish suddenly overcoming her. "Lorne said I was her guide, but I didn't even think...God. She was so unhappy as a vampire, and I had the solution all along."

"So did Angel, and he didn't mention it, either."

"That's true," Cordy replied, staring at the crib. "And now with Spike...Angel's gonna flip."

"Really?" Angel's voice filtered in, and a second later they saw the vampire himself, looking only mildly exhausted. "I was thinking maybe a somersault."

At the look of disdain he got from Cordy, he held up his hands in surrender. "Kidding. So, what's this about Spike?"

Buffy didn't take the news well at all, Spike noted with worry. He wanted to go to her, but their affair had been secret, and showing anything other than distant concern would raise too many questions. Instead, he watched her as she shifted from anger, to sorrow, to self-pity, to anger again, in a vicious circle. Anya had shielded the most expensive items in the store with her body, so the Slayer had to satisfy herself with venting her anger into a punching bag in the training room.

"Oh, this is _so_ like him. I get to die again, and _he_ gets a baby--with Darla!" Her fist connected with a loud thud. "I have to try and pay off back debts with zero income, and he gets a millionaire to fund his little agency or whatever. It's just not fair!" She kicked the bag, and it nearly broke loose of the ceiling.

"Love, it's not gonna be all happiness and light for him, not if Angel Jr. came with a prophecy attached."

"I know, but...he slept with Darla, and not only didn't he lose his soul, she got pregnant. It was _supposed_ to happen, foretold in some ancient scroll. And it wouldn't have happened if he'd stayed with me," she finished softly.

He sighed, as realized the true root of her grief. "You weren't meant to be together, Buffy. Even if he'd stayed, it wouldn't have lasted."

"It could have, but it's a moot point now."

"No, Buffy." He walked over, mildly concerned at his more vulnerable state as he approached her. "You were a sixteen-year-old girl who fell for an older man who knew better than to get involved with you. You're not the same girl you were, for good or ill. People grow, they drift apart...or they become closer."

Spike glanced through the open door, and seeing no one was watching, decided to risk a little more. He leaned towards her and took her hand in his. "Do you really want the past? Or are you willing to give the future a try?"

Her fingers tightened around his, a sign of hope. "You know what I want. _Who_ I want," she corrected, moving an inch closer to him. "That hasn't changed. Yeah, I have regrets. I can't stop that from happening. And it hurts to see your dreams crashing down around your ears, then just when you thought it was over, something happens and crushes those dream fragments into powder. As the Slayer, I don't get maternity leave, or even life insurance. Life happens all around me, but I can't join in."

"Life is what you're living right now. It's you and me, and your friends and your sister, Dawn. You're in the world, Buffy. It's just waiting for you to notice you're already here."

Slowly, she absorbed his words. He could see her struggle over it, wondering if could be that simple. "What about you, though? You can have a family, get a job, live the American Dream...even though you're British."

He shrugged, knowing this would come up eventually. "The normal life's not for me. It never was. And you won't get rid of me that easily, Slayer, so you might as well not even try."

Spike finally saw a smile emerge from her, more out of relief than anything. She didn't even pause to check whether anyone was watching when she pulled him close, matching her upraised lips to his. The kiss deepened in mutual assent, and soon the both of them were lost to their surroundings, unaware that anyone else was in the shop.

Which, of course, wasn't the case at all.

The sound of colorful and somewhat odd swearing drew them out of their embrace, the panic not setting in until they saw Xander standing in the doorway, his jaw slackened and his eyes nearly bulging. Buffy turned to Spike in dread, and he sighed in a gesture of mock defeat.

"Oops."


	5. Busted

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Chapter 5 - It's not just Spike and Buffy who're busted... A/N: Sorry for taking longer than normal on this part...but it's done. :) Disclaimer in part 1.

* * *

** Chapter 5 - Busted**

* * *

If there was one thing in the world that Xander never wanted to see again, aside from the time he caught his Uncle Rory coming out of the shower, it was the sight of Buffy and Spike kissing. He'd repressed the spell smooch-fest from a couple years ago, and knowing it was a robot Buffy had softened the scene in the cemetery somewhat, but this...no. This was a level of horror that was beyond all hope of being explained away.

"Ye gods. You...you're kissing. Real Buffy lips to real Spike lips, not spell-induced, or--or anything!" His voice raise in pitch and volume.

Buffy turned to face him. "Xander, this isn't...well, it _is_ actually what you think it is, but I can explain. Spike and I, well, we're..."

She turned back to Spike with a pleading look, and he sighed in exasperation. "We're in the beginnings of what could be a brilliant relationship, and if you hadn't interrupted us, we'd be gettin'--Ouch!" Spike rubbed the spot on his arm where Buffy had slugged him.

"What he means is, we're...we're a 'We'. There is a 'We', and the 'We' is us." Buffy seemed satisfied with that assessment, which amused Spike to no end.

"But how did a 'We' occur?" Xander asked, still baffled and horrified. "I mean, I thought we all understood that you weren't even remotely interested in Spike, and now, it's like we all know it except _you_!"

Appearing to be at the end of his rope, Spike replied, "Look, I know it's a shock, despite the fact we've done this twice already, but for god's sake, I'm human now! No 'grr', no fangs, and sunlight-friendly, to boot. Give a bloke a break, would you?"

Xander frowned, then his eyes widened in realization. "Hey, you're right. Since you're an un-undead guy, there's no ickiness involved. Well, except for the disturbing thought that you guys were doing this before the transformation--"

"Xander?" Spike interrupted, his voice sounding awfully quiet.

"Hmm?"

"If you're finished being okay with it, d'you mind if you scamper off while we continue our snog?"

Buffy merely stood there, watching each of them with growing unease. Xander's face fell as he realized Spike was most definitely serious. "Oh. _Ohhh_. Sorry, I'll just be--and I'll close the door, no prob!" He added once he saw the former vampire's glare.

Xander shut the door and turned to see the rest of the gang staring at him. "Hey, guess what I just found out?" He smiled weakly, feeling the need for something like a chair, or maybe possibly a bed. He hobbled over to the table, figuring a bench seat would do.

"We heard," Willow replied softly, still a little stunned, herself. Dawn wasn't looking so good, either. She stared at her textbook blankly, her pencil forgotten in hand.

Anya, as usual, took the revelation well. "At least now Buffy has someone to have sex with, which should make her a little less irritable. And Spike is happy, so it's all good, right?"

Suddenly Dawn slammed her book closed, and stood up from the table, heading straight for the training room door.

"Dawn, I wouldn't--" Xander began, but she was already opening the door and striding through, as only a teenager in a huff can do. "--go in there, but okay, don't listen to me."

"Teenage crushes are very dangerous," Anya nodded sagely. "I _really_ hope none of my kin are nearby."

* * *

Spike and Buffy hadn't continued their smooching. In fact, they were arguing about what to do next, when Dawn stomped into the room, clearly upset.

Buffy turned to face her sister. "Dawn, what--"

"I can't believe you! You tell me over and over again about how evil Spike is, how I can't see him, and now you're _kissing_ him? Behind everyone's back? And don't tell me that this isn't what I think it is, 'cause I'm not stupid."

"I don't understand," Buffy said. "I thought you of all people would approve."

"I don't approve of you being a hypocrite," Dawn seethed. "This didn't just happen because Spike's human now, did it? It's only been a day and you're jumping his bones. How long has this been going on?"

Buffy stayed silent, but Spike felt the need to come clean with the irate girl. "A few days, I think. Whenever the singing and dancing was going on, it was that last night of it."

"It was before that," Buffy answered quietly, surprising both Spike and Dawn. Buffy looked up to see Spike's stunned expression; obviously, he'd never suspected a thing. "Ever since I came back, Spike was the only one I could stand being around. I didn't know why, exactly. I just kept going to see him, which apparently made things worse for him. And the singing made everything so clear, so obvious...it was scary. I ran from it, from him. He didn't let me go, though," she smiled wistfully.

"I couldn't," Spike added. "You gave me hope that night. I had to find out if there was anything more, before it ate me up from the inside. 'Bit, she was fighting this pretty hard--she was tryin' to keep with what she told you, but...things changed. And then I changed."

He couldn't keep the hint of sadness out of his voice. "I don't know what happens next. Maybe this works out between us, maybe it won't. Our combined baggage would fill a bloody Ryder truck. What I _do_ know, is that you feel like you've been betrayed. It's justifiable, since Buffy wanted to keep things quiet, and she made me promise not to say a word. However, if this moment is all about coming clean, then there's something you ought to tell your sis."

Dawn's eyes widened in horror. "What...what do you mean?"

Spike's smile was pleasant, but with the slightest edge of danger. "You think I wouldn't know? Late nights out with your mates, or going to the mall but coming home without bags to show for it? Or are you the one teenage girl in America that pinches pennies?"

"Like you have any room to talk," Dawn replied sarcastically, but he could see her fear. He might not be able to smell it, but his powers of observation were as keen as ever.

"Dawn, have you been stealing?" Buffy asked, aghast.

"What? No!"

Buffy looked to Spike, who nodded. "She's been nickin' small stuff, jewelry, make-up, that sort of thing. I didn't say anything before because, well, I figured it wasn't any of my business. It's amazing what a soul does to you. Makes you want to confess all sorts of nasty things." Spike glanced pointedly at Dawn.

She took the hint. "Okay, fine. So I took a few things. It's not like Buffy didn't do the same thing when she was my age."

Now Spike was staring at Buffy. She paled. "What? It was lipstick. And maybe a pack of gum, but that's all. I never took jewelry."

"Well, well. Looks like we've got a couple of sticky-finger sisters," Spike replied, intensely amused.

Both Summers women gave him a dirty look, then turned to each other in barely repressed rage. Voices rose and fell; Dawn huffed and pouted, then nearly screamed at the punishment Buffy gave her--no phone and no hanging out with friends for three weeks, and returning all the stolen merchandise in person.

"God, Buffy--I'll be put in jail!" Dawn replied, freaking out. Spike seemed to concur, adding that it would be bad for Buffy's tenuous guardianship. Buffy sighed, realizing he had a point.

"Well, then how about leaving it behind in a bag, with a note inside? With the proviso that if you do this again, you _will_ be talking to the manager face to face, guardianship be damned."

This was much more acceptable all around, and to Spike's observation, it seemed like Dawn was actually glad to get caught. In his vampire days, he wouldn't have understood the concept. With his return to humanity, however, he had a sense of Dawn's desperation in wanting attention, any attention. And it made him feel awful for nearly forgetting about the girl, himself.

* * *

"How long has Angel been sitting there?" Gunn asked Cordy as he noticed the dark, bulky lump perched on the edge of Angel's bed. Cordy whisked him out of the bedroom and into the foyer.

"A few minutes. He was stunned, then angry, then he sat down and started to brood. And man, when he broods he puts _all_ of his energy into it."

"I can hear you, you know," Angel called out sullenly.

"Whatever," Cordy called back. "Anyway, did Wesley tell you...?"

"Yeah, he filled me in. I came up here because I wanted to smack the son of a bitch around a bit 'cause he didn't tell me 'bout this before," Gunn replied, anger evident in his voice. "My sister, my friends...they got turned into vamps, and now I here that it didn't have to be that way?"

"I know. Wes pointed it out to him, and me. Harmony was here, and I didn't even think about it."

Gunn did a slight double-take, but before he could say anything, Cordelia cut him off. "Yeah, I knew it, too. Not first-hand knowledge, granted, but Angel told me about the whole turned-back-time thing. So if you're here to smack the 'son of a bitch' around, you're gonna have to hit Miss Primo Bitch, as well."

She smiled when Gunn's anger faded into discontent. He sighed and sank down into a nearby chair. "So, what now?"

"Wesley has Lorne checking on possible Mohra demon sightings. If the vampire gang that did this to Spike was able to get the blood, we need to know where it came from. He's also thinking about heading up there to check out the samples they have."

"Wait a second--they have _samples?_ As in, actual Mohra blood?"

Cordy nodded. "Seems that the vamps didn't use it all. No one knows if it's still good, though. But if it is..."

"You won't be using it on me," Angel interjected, now standing at the doorway between the two rooms. Neither Gunn nor Cordy said a word as he fidgeted in place, striving to make his point clear. "I've been thinking about this, and I know it's a big opportunity--I know I never thought I'd see it come up again. We all thought for the longest time that the Shanshu would make me human, but now there's enough evidence and doubt to make me rethink it. Maybe the prophecy just meant that I would create life, not become alive.

"Either way, I can't be human now. I have to protect my son, and I still have a mission to fulfill. I can't do either while being mortal."

"Hey, we mortals are doin' alright," Gunn said lightly. "Think I can't take you?"

"I know you can't," Angel replied with a good-natured smirk. "But you know I'm right about this."

"Totally on board with you staying undead," Cordy answered. "But what about Buffy? She doesn't know about the, y'know, you as a living, breathing human for a day. Are you going to tell her?"

"Not if I don't have to. It's better if she doesn't know. Besides, it's over between us, so what's the point?"

Cordelia folded her arms. "You didn't tell her about Connor or Darla, but she knows about that. Lying is just a way to avoid painful truths. I really think you ought to come clean, Angel. If nothing else, it'll be one less lie on your conscience."

Angel spotted Wesley standing just inside the entrance, a frown on the fellow investigator's face. "I'm going to Sunnydale to take a look at the samples in their possession. I was wondering if anyone wanted to come with me?"

"Why don't you take Fred?" Angel suggested. Gunn's face clouded over momentarily, but no one seemed to notice. "She's got a knack at figuring things out...I'm sure she could help."

Wesley smiled nervously at Angel, "Yes, I'm sure she could. I'll, uh, go ask her right now. Excuse me." He dashed out the door, to Angel and Cordy's amusement, and to Gunn's chagrin.

* * *

After Wesley called to update them, and to say he and a friend were coming to see the blood samples they had, Buffy decided that hitting the local demon haunts for information might end up yielding something substantial. Hopefully, she'd find out if any of the vampire gang was still around, and if so, where they'd gotten the blood of a demon usually considered dangerous and tricky to kill.

Willow still felt the answer to the question was moot. If she could recreate the effect of the blood as a spell, then finding the demon was a futile effort. However, her conscience prodded her, knowing that messing with magic had been the cause of her troubles.

Instead of arguing, she volunteered to go with Spike and Dawn back to the house, while Anya and Xander closed up shop. She noticed that Dawn was walking way ahead of them, as if trying to disown the former witch and former vampire by distance.

"'Bit, hang back a little," Spike called out, but the girl ignored him.

"Leave her--she just needs to cool off."

"What, because of me and Buffy? We had that out already."

"Yeah, but she's still miffed. She does have a crush on you, kinda." At his look of confusion, Willow added, "But she's not so much, now. It was awhile ago...in fact, I'm sure I'm wrong. Forget I said anything."

Spike looked back to the ever-diminishing sight of Dawn, and Willow could see comprehension beginning to form. "Oh."

If she didn't know better, she would've sworn that he was embarrassed. After a moment, she detected some blushing around the ears, and it confirmed the outlandish theory. He tried to avoid her stare of amazement, but in the end, he gave up.

"I didn't know--I mean, I always wondered why she hung around my crypt, but I never thought..." he trailed off, flailing helplessly for the right words.

"Well, you do have that effect on some women. Specifically any Summers of the female persuasion."

"Really?" He seemed honestly surprised. "Joyce, too?"

"I can't say for sure, but she never was very afraid of you. And she let you in the house all the time, didn't she? That's a sure sign of, well, something."

He smiled gently, and again Willow was struck by the dichotomy of his present and former self. "Yeah, I guess so."

They both drew their attention back to Dawn, just in time to see a pair of arms reach out from an alley and drag her out of sight. Spike was already running as she screamed, leaving Willow to chase after.

Spike twisted around the corner, then froze. Willow soon saw what made him pause--two vampires waited in the alley, one holding Dawn while the other prepared to feed. Willow quickly felt around for a stake in her purse, wishing that she could use magic just this once, as he prepared to bluster his way through the situation.

He didn't get much of a chance. The one leaning in for a meal recognized him almost instantly. "Spike, of all..._people_. What, you didn't really think word didn't spread about what Ash did to you? Except we thought you were dead."

"You thought wrong, then," Spike gritted out.

"Yay for me. Means I get to be the one to kill you," the vampire said, a cruel smile twisting his demon visage.

Willow slapped the newly-found stake into Spike's waiting hand. "Don't think so, mate."

The first one dusted quickly thanks to the element of surprise, but the second abandoned Dawn to lunge at Spike, raining blows that he was unable to counter or stop. The second vampire threw Spike into the alley wall, and he groaned in pain. The stake was barely clutched in his hand, his fingers nerveless.

Seeing this, Willow and Dawn started beating on the vampire with their fists, in the hope of distracting him. The second vampire fell for it and turned to attack them as well, but then the wooden tip of a stake was protruding out from his chest, and a moment later he was dust on Spike's boots.

He handed the stake back to Willow, and she noted that his left arm was hanging useless by his side, the stake having been switched to his right hand. "What happened to your arm?"

His jaw clenched in pain. "I think it's dislocated. Hurts like hell."

"Let's get back to the house before anything else plans on jumping us tonight."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Dawn replied, a little shaken. "Although we're going to need to do a makeover on Spike sometime soon."

"Hey, I'm nobody's bloody Ken doll."

Dawn tugged on his good arm, and they headed back along the sidewalk. "I meant the hair. You're wicked conspicuous with the bleached hair, although I do like it the way it is. It's cool."

"And the coat would probably need to go," Willow joined in, and Spike gave her a look of utter betrayal. "Which I like, too, but it's your signature style. They know you're human now, and they know what you look like. Once they find out you're not dead--"

"I won't be able to go out at night," Spike finished.

"Or worse, they'll come and hunt you down. We have to let them think they succeeded in getting rid of you. Even if that means looking, well, normal."

Spike's brow furrowed in obvious distaste. "I don't like it. I never asked to be normal. If you ask me, it's highly overrated."

"I didn't say you had to be Mr. J.Crew. Just...something less Goth and Punk. Though just as a tip, you'll probably want to ditch the jewelry."

"Why? Isn't it...ow...trendy?" Spike shifted his hold on his left arm.

"Yeah, if you're, like, nineteen!" Dawn snorted. "Or a club-hopping sleazebag."

"All right, all right. No need to beat me over the head. It's gone." Dawn almost hugged him, then thought better of it. "So, um, what do you think Buffy would like?"

* * *

Willy's was quiet that night--only a handful of demons gathered around a table in the corner, while a human sat at the bar, either unaware or unconcerned about the typical clientele. Buffy spotted the short, dark owner of the place, and made a beeline to the counter.

"Oh, no." The dread in Willy's voice was palpable.

"I think you know why I'm here," Buffy said, leaning both arms against the surface in a way that didn't suggest casualness, so much as easy access to Willy's throat.

"I know nothing, I swear!"

"Really." Buffy reached for him, and Willy jumped back. "I don't have time for games. Do I need to hit you to make this look good?"

"Okay, maybe I heard something about Spike's little meeting with fate. But it's really foggy..."

Buffy pulled out a twenty and laid it on the counter, holding on to one side. "Does that help your selective amnesia?"

"Yeah, it's amazing what the color green does for the mind," Willy grabbed the other edge, but Buffy clamped her hand on top of his, pinning it.

"Tell me. Now."

"All right. Man, you Slayers are testy things, aren't you? Anyway, this vampire guy by the name of Ash came in a few days ago and sat at a table waiting for this Quathra demon to come in. They deal mostly in the black market, hard to get items, and so on. Money is exchanged, the Quathra hands Ash a vial filled with something green and glow-in-the-dark, and leaves. Without tipping, I might add."

"How can I contact this Quathra demon?"

"You can't. He only answers a summons by a demon. And he's really picky about vampires, too. I heard Ash was one of those Eliminati guys you took out when Balthazar came into town."

Buffy thought back, and frowned. Some of them had gotten away, but she thought that they'd all left by now. Or ended up on the wrong end of a stake. It explained the odd weapon choice, anyway. "Where's the rest of his gang?"

"I'm gonna need more than twenty bucks for _that _info, Slayer," Willy huffed, and after giving him a withering look, she pulled out another twenty she could barely afford to spare. "Okay, then. There's an abandoned warehouse at the docks, Pier 9. I don't know if they split or not, but that's where Ash was hiding out last."

Buffy lifted her hand, and Willy snatched the twenty away, followed closely by the second twenty she gave him. "Thanks for the starting place, Willy. And if you've lead me wrong...I'll be back for a refund."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and his held breath didn't release until the door closed behind her.


	6. Choices and Considerations

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13 (Pushing the envelope on this one, folks.)

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Chapter 6 - Spike begins to feel more and more of the burdens of humanity, and he's not sure how he likes it. Disclaimer, A/N, in part 1.

* * *

**Chapter 6 - Choices and Considerations**

* * *

The Summers house was dark and lonely, seemingly deserted by its residents, but for Willow, Spike, and Dawn, it was a welcome sight. Willow opened the door as Dawn made sure Spike got through the doorway without bumping his arm. Boxes of his belongings littered the family room floor, the rescued detritus of Spike's undead existence. Mostly filled with books, it also had his extensive selection of old horror movies and various CDs. Dawn wandered over as a CD cover caught her eye. She picked it up before Spike could warn her away.

"My God, Spike. You have an Enya CD?"

"I like her singing," Spike mumbled defensively as he took the CD and placed it back in the box. "Like your dancing blokes are any better."

"Hey, at least I'm _supposed_ to like them. What's your excuse?"

He stared at her in mock disgust. "Can't a fellow be a bit three-dimensional? I like punk and all, but sometimes you just need some Rachmaninov. Or Thelonious Monk."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Remind me to broaden your musical horizons later." He sagged into the couch, trying to hide the pain, which he did with little success. Willow came over with pills retrieved from somewhere, and he took them gratefully.

"I don't know how to reset an arm," Willow said, "but I can try if you tell me how to do it."

He wasn't sure if he wanted to risk it, not with a girl that looked like she would blow away in a strong breeze. If he'd still been a vampire...but he wasn't, he reminded himself darkly. Human medical rules applied here, not vampire ones.

"I don't know, Red. It takes a strong but firm touch. I'm sure Buffy could do it."

The Slayer herself walked through the door, just as he finished his sentence. She shut the door behind her, and blinked at the odd stares being thrown her way. "So, what's this thing that I'm supposed to be able to do, again?"

"We kinda ran into a couple vampires on the way home, and we think Spike dislocated his shoulder," Dawn explained. "He was great...except for the being thrown into a brick wall part, of course."

Buffy hurried over, her eyes taking in the bruises that were beginning to show. "Was this a random vamp attack?"

"It was until they recognized me," he replied, wincing as she examined his arm. After a few seconds, she confirmed his assumption.

"Yeah, this is dislocated. Turn around so I can get behind you."

He did as asked and felt her grab his elbow, while wrapping her right arm around his shoulders, resting her hand on where his arm and shoulder met. "I did this to Giles once, so I know it's gonna hurt a lot. And may I say, I'm glad you didn't try to knock it back yourself."

"To be honest, I was afraid of passing out," Spike replied quietly, attempting to calm his pounding heart. He knew how badly this would hurt, and the last time had been as a vampire. He didn't relish the idea of having Willow and Dawn wait for him to wake up, or drag his unconscious body back to the house.

"Ready?" Buffy asked, and he nodded. With a swift jerk, she pulled his arm back.

The pain was excruciating, and for a second he thought he might end up passing out after all. Slowly, he regained focus and noticed that Buffy was holding him, her head resting against the crook of his neck. He knew he'd screamed because his throat was now raw and scratchy.

When he stirred, she mumbled into his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

"No, but I will be," he replied weakly. It appeared they were alone--he guessed Dawn and Willow didn't want to stick around for the torturous and awkward misery, which he completely understood.

"I should have realized walking around at night like that would only put you in danger. I should've gone with you."

He sighed, not loving the thought of Buffy tagging along to keep him safe--it reminded him too much of Soldier Boy, a comparison he didn't like. However, he knew something would have to be done. He just hoped the two girls knew best.

"Will and Dawn had an idea about changing how I look."

"Hair, clothes, and...everything?" Buffy seemed to be mixed about it, as well. "Do you want to do that?"

"I might have to, for longevity's sake," he said, turning around to face her. "I wouldn't miss the bleach, that's for sure."

"The vampires in town already think you're dead. Let's keep it that way. Now, as for this..." She squinted at his hair, as if trying to divine his original color.

"It's light brown," he replied in answer to her unspoken query. "Or at least, I'm pretty sure it was."

"Hmm. Your roots say otherwise. And believe me, I know _all_ about roots." She still looked a little lost in thought, possibly trying to envision the sight of him without the peroxide blond. "You wanna go out tomorrow with me, pick something up?"

He smiled hesitantly, unsure whether to be flattered by her desire to be with him, or hurt. "Think I can't buy hair color by myself?"

"Yeah, but I want some input on it. And to prevent any hair color disasters, of course. In my capable hands, you cannot go wrong."

For some reason, her confidence reassured him enough to get him to agree to it. Just then Dawn came in, seeing the coast was clear. She had her sling in one hand, holding it out as an offering.

"I wanted you to use it until your shoulder's better. I don't really need it anymore."

Buffy looked at her sister, plainly not liking the idea, but she was silent on the subject. He took the sling as graciously as he knew how, Willow's earlier remark echoing in his head. Dawn grinned in relief, and he felt a little weird at knowing how the girl truly felt about him without her being aware of it. When she left to go back upstairs, he sighed in relief.

"I know she has a crush on you." Buffy then smiled, a rare sight for her. "Don't worry, I'm not threatened."

He laughed genuinely, partly amazed to be doing such a thing at all. "Well, you know, she _did_ like me first..."

"Hey!" The elder Summers sister pouted, and Spike couldn't resist the temptation. He leaned over and kissed her, claiming her mouth as his own. She countered with gusto, and soon the couch was feeling a mite too out in the open for the places their hands wanted to travel.

He pulled away first, out of breath and needing a mental break as well as a physical one. "We, um, ought to go a little slower, here. Especially with Dawn in the house."

The dazed look in her eyes faded quickly. "Oh, sorry. You're right, definitely slower." She started to get up when he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

"Don't think that I don't want to, love. It's killing me to do this, but I want the next time to be perfect. No frantic ripping at clothes or worrying about what it all means. Just you, and me, loving each other completely. Like it's supposed to be."

She softened visibly, her eyes showing a mixture of desire and wonder. "Wow, that's...so not you. Or maybe it is, and I've never seen it before. But I like." She took in a deep breath, shuddering with something other than cold, then gave him a half-smile. "I like it a lot."

He kissed her again, gently, moved beyond words. They both lingered on the kiss a few seconds longer than necessary, loathe to pull away first. Finally, the sound of someone coming through the dining room broke the light embrace. Willow stood in the foyer, as if waiting for permission to enter.

"Sorry to interrupt the smoochies, but I just wanted to know if I could watch TV?" At Spike's curious glance, she added, "I'm a Junkyard Wars junkie."

"Oh! Junkyard Wars is on?" Spike grabbed for the remote control. "Man, I can't believe it's Wednesday already. Is it a rerun?"

"No, it's new." Buffy felt completely out of the loop as Willow joined Spike on the other side of the couch. The former witch gestured to the sling, "Do you need help putting that on?"

"I'll get that!" Buffy grabbed the sling before Willow could, and Spike grinned at her sudden possessiveness. "I just forgot, that's all."

As she helped him with the sling, she noticed that the show seemed decidedly British. When she asked Spike about it, he explained. "It's a Brit import to the States. They finally went back to the two original hosts. Couldn't stand the yanks they had on before."

"The first American guy host's on the daytime version of The Weakest Link now, and yes, I need a life," Willow replied to Buffy's glare. "Ooh! Look, they have to make snowmobiles! That's gonna be hard."

"Okay, Will, I can understand why _you_ like this, but...Spike?"

He ticked off the list on his fingers, "It's got British people, heavy machinery with destructive power, and there's occasional swearing that the American censors miss. What's not to love?"

"Sorry I asked," Buffy said, rolling her eyes in amusement. "I'll leave you two to your TV watching, since I don't particularly want to see British men sweating like pigs over rusty pieces of metal."

Spike harrumphed at that, his eyes dancing in amusement. "I think you like seeing British men all sweaty, love, and you're just too embarrassed to watch with us."

Having gotten off the couch, Buffy now leaned over in a mildly seductive way, her lips poised close to his ear. "I'd like to see _one_ certain English guy all sweaty, but he's not on the TV," she whispered, then stood and walked up the stairs without a backwards glance.

Stunned, he could only watch her leave, unable to follow due to the presence of an underage girl in the house, and the Wicca girl who was pretending she hadn't overheard a word.

* * *

Frustration was a horrible thing, and Spike knew this all too well. Hours had passed, the girls were all asleep, and now only he was left awake, tortured by the images conjured up by memory. He remembered the nights he and Buffy had spent together, wild and passionate, but more about lust than love. He'd meant it when he said he wanted the next time to be different; however, he didn't have the guts to tell Buffy he wasn't even sure how to start.

He knew everything about having sex as a vampire, but he'd never...well, it wasn't something that was done back in Victorian times. And he could feel the changes inside, not just the warmth of his skin and the heartbeat, but the sensation of being truly alive. There wasn't any way he could compete with his old self in that category, and he'd known it back in the hospital. He could hope that Buffy wouldn't mind, but he knew that she loved the ability to release the restraint and go all out, full strength.

And here he was, sitting on the back porch, fingering a cigarette he knew he shouldn't smoke. Knowing that his human body couldn't offer her what she needed. How long until the entity known as Spike was completely gone, replaced by the pathetic William?

A dark, hidden place in his mind told him that it wasn't so hard to go back to being Spike, the vampire. All he needed to do was get turned again, hopefully by someone willing to take money for it and ask no questions. He was surprised when the option slightly revolted him, as if he was above that sort of thing.

William had been at the time, he thought darkly, remembering the site of his death. He hadn't figured out what Drusilla truly was, assuming her to be a lady of the night, coming to him to sell her services. The glowing, glistening something she offered to him, he'd been naïve enough to think had involved love, because in his poetic heart that's what love was. There was nothing brighter than love, nothing more profound in its brilliancy.

Now, he was aware that it burned. He couldn't be William, not after what he'd seen, what he'd done. But he couldn't be Spike, either...so who was he?

He chuckled bitterly, amused at the spectacle he was making of himself. Spike wasn't one to brood and mope, and neither was William, despite all the heartache he'd suffered. It was odd, feeling like a stranger in your own skin. Maybe Buffy _could_ learn to love this new person, because he knew for a fact that she would never have had William back in the day. Even a relationship with his old vampire self didn't seem much for permanence or stability.

He thought about Angel, who had made a slightly new name for his souled identity. Well, he certainly couldn't go by "Spi"...maybe Will? He shook his head at that, figuring the Scoobies would just get him and Willow confused. Randy was not even remotely an option. He needed inspiration, something akin to what had caused him to go by Spike in the first place, but without the humiliation and tears.

Sighing, he let it go for another day. Maybe Buffy could help, or even the poofter himself, since he had better renaming experiences than Spike did. Or maybe he ought to stay with his current nom de guerre, and be unconventional by changing his life without changing his name, as well.

He couldn't sense the encroaching presence of dawn any longer, but the weariness in his body spoke of needed rest. Giving one last look to the cigarette, he tucked it back into his coat pocket as he stood and turned to go back into the house. When he passed the kitchen's garbage can, he pulled up the lid and tossed it inside, then his pack of smokes quickly followed.

* * *

The next morning was mostly hassle-free, or Buffy deemed it so, anyway. Dawn missed her bus again, but Spike was there to drive her to school. Willow burned the toast and almost set off the fire alarm upstairs, but with some creative scraping and a lot of strawberry jam, it was edible.

By the time Spike came back, Willow had already left for class. Buffy was waiting in the kitchen for him to arrive, trying not to show her anxiousness at having the house all to themselves for the whole afternoon. She'd already cleaned the dishes to CDC level perfection, sterilized all the countertops and polished the chrome on the toaster. The kitchen radio was on, playing something mildly hip and young. Buffy almost felt like she ought to be wearing a shirt dress and a string of pearls.

When he found her in the kitchen, she smiled through the nervousness. Maybe he didn't notice, maybe he wasn't thinking about how alone the two of them were right now...

That idea was squashed as he pinned her between himself and the kitchen counter, his mouth lowering down to claim hers. It was animalistic and fierce, but not forceful. She countered with a possessive move of her own, her hand snaking around his waist to pull him closer, mindful of his sore shoulder.

Hands wandered everywhere, on top of clothing, underneath, tangled in once-coiffed hair, trying to relearn each other in a matter of minutes. Buffy's hand lowered from his chest to below his belt, and he gasped in a way that surprised and thrilled her. Spike had always been attentive to her ministrations, but never like this.

His hands trembled as he traced a path from her back to underneath the front of her blouse, fingering the line where her bra left exposed flesh. When she looked into his eyes and saw his own nervousness there, she felt a wave of tenderness for him rise up and nearly swallow her whole. Suddenly, the desperation altered into something gentle and slow, languid enough that Buffy feared they'd still be in the kitchen when Dawn came home from school.

"Should we, um," Buffy asked, her voice weak, "go upstairs?"

To her surprise, he looked almost relieved. His response confirmed it. "I'm glad you said something, pet, because as amazing as it would be to shag in the kitchen, I don't think it would fit into the plans I had in mind for us."

"Plans? Why does that sound like you've been writing notes and making charts?" Her tone was teasing, but the look on his face showed he didn't take it that way.

"I just didn't want to...look, Buffy. You know I love you. And I know we're working on this thing between us, but I don't want to fall into the same pattern we had before. The sex was bloody amazing, but I want more than that. I can tell that you do, too."

"So, are you saying you don't want to go upstairs?" She tried not to pout, she really did, but Spike saw it anyway and gave her a slight smile.

"I'm sayin', love, that a human male is far different from a vampire male, and there's a good chance that if we go upstairs now, all the errands and other plans for today will be scrapped."

"Oh. Okay." Her mind went into an interesting visual place at that thought, then she shook it off just in time for another thought to hit her upside the head. "Oh! Crap, I totally forgot! You're human, ergo one of the living. Meaning, if we're going to be doing anything anywhere, we're going to need protection."

"Protection from what?" Spike frowned in confusion, then he got it. Now it was _his_ turn to look flustered. "Oh, right. Um, well. The drugstore, then?"

"Yeah. Let's just hope no one asks about the purchasing combo of condoms and hair color," she commented wryly, making a move for her purse. "Besides, I have to go to the docks for a little stray info gathering and slayage. You want to...um..."

"Hang out at home while you take down the bad guys, since I'm no longer any good in a fight?"

"No, it's...your shoulder, and I think we better get going while it's still daylight." Buffy leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, noting how he felt a tad distant; she hoped it wasn't at the notion that his sole value lay in his ability to fight demons. That he might be contemplating returning to his former source of power scared her in a way she didn't expect.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Buffy felt an indistinct twinge as she watched Spike walking around and bathed in light, the picture so surreal she nearly pinched herself. He was smiling when their eyes met, the distance and sadness in the kitchen having vanished as if it had never existed. Despite the sudden mood shift, she couldn't imagine not smiling back. She was grateful for whatever accident or design had allowed him to join her world, and as she slipped into her mother's old SUV, she hoped that she could persuade Spike to stay in it.


	7. Webs We Weave

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Update Ch. 7 - Spike comes to a realization, while Wesley is pressed to reveal what he knows about Angel's knowledge of the demon blood.

A/N for Ch.7: This update is very, very late, and I apologize. It was due to a sudden lack of free time in the real world, _not_ a lack of interest in finishing the story. Trust me, this isn't going to be abandoned by any means! Also, many, _many_ thanks to all of you who've posted feedback on the story--your input is what spurs me on, and I could go on and on, but I'll conserve that effort and put it towards writing the next chapter. :)

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Webs We Weave**

* * *

The ride from L.A. had been uncomfortable for Wesley and enjoyable for Fred, mainly due to his underlying attraction to her and her obliviousness to it. She pointed out fast food restaurants and shopping malls with her natural enthusiasm, while he nodded and tried to make normal, everyday small talk. His inability to protect Fred from himself still haunted him, causing his brain to malfunction whenever she smiled at him in that certain way, or if her physical presence was too close. Having her in the car with him for two hours was the most pleasurable agony he'd ever experienced.

Wesley found quickly enough that Buffy wasn't home, so they continued on to the magic shop. When Fred saw it, she said it was cute and quaint, and he could certainly see the traits. But in truth, he was more interested in what was inside.

The female ex-demon he remembered from years ago looked up as he and Fred entered, and her face brightened in recognition. He knew she ran the shop in Giles' absence, but it was hard to fathom how she could have gone from nearly destroying the world by way of a wish, to being so trusted by the Slayer's friends.

She walked over and guided them to a round table set away from the register. "You're here! And you're early!" She sounded just the slightest bit miffed at the notion, despite the smile.

"Oh, where we not supposed to be early?" Fred asked.

"Well, I guess it's okay, but there's no one here but me. Xander's at work and Willow's in class. And who knows where Buffy is?" Anya shrugged, then started back towards the counter.

"Anya, could I see the Mohra demon blood? I think Willow said that it was here. I realize that the others aren't here, but that doesn't mean I can't do research on it. And Fred, too." He smiled at her, and Fred grinned back.

The ex-demon shrugged and went into the backroom. She emerged a couple minutes later, bringing a small glass vial with a faintly-glowing green substance. He and Fred both stared at it in amazement, surprised that something so powerful could be so simple and elementary.

Wesley turned to Fred, an eager look on his face. "Let's get the books and equipment from the car. I have the feeling we've got a bit of work to do."

* * *

Spike stood on the porch, holding a plastic bag containing a box of Clairol #1452 in light medium brown and another box that seemed to invoke the illusion of Greek warriors as condoms. Or something to that effect. He didn't claim to understand it, since for all of his worldly knowledge, this was one area he'd managed to avoid.

He watched as Buffy waved before pulling out of the driveway once again, this time without him. He wasn't too sure why she had to confront the remainders of Ash's gang at the docks--was it payback, or information gathering as she'd said? Either way, she was gone, leaving him with a bagful of products that Spike as a vampire would have never needed.

Grimacing, he went into the house and made his way to the bathroom, deciding that if it was going to be done, he would do it alone. No one had to hold his hand through something as simple as hair coloring, and besides, it would be fun to catch people off-guard again. He might even fool the rest of the gang for a while, wondering if they depended on recognizing him due to the bleached hair and leather duster.

He made sure the condoms were out of the prying eyes of teenage girls, then went to work on deconstructing the old Spike, in favor of the new, human one.

Buffy found Pier 9 soon enough, despite the disorientation from seeing it in daylight. The industrial area of Sunnydale was right next to the once-prolific docks, which enjoyed a sheltered presence from the direct impact of the Pacific Ocean. Wood planks greyed in age and roughened by the blasts of sea air creaked underneath her feet, letting her know that its continued existence was more due to luck than strength.

The abandoned warehouse was leaning ever so slightly, signs that the winds had taken their toll. She tugged on the door and found it was locked, but a sharp pull broke the rusted metal and let the sunlight pour into the depths.

Three vampires were in the far corner, asleep and dead to the world. Without thinking, she dashed over and staked two of them before they could wake up. The third started to rise, snapping awake as fast as he could, but Buffy was there and had him pinned to the wall before he could blink. A couple slits in the wood near his neck allowed thin rays of light to filter in, causing the vamp to hiss in pain as his skin smoldered.

"I don't have the patience for niceties, so I'm only going to ask you this once. Where did Ash get the Mohra blood?"

"Mohra blood?"

She sighed, exasperated. "The glowy green stuff. I have some of it if I need to jog your memory..."

"No, please! Don't use it on me!" The vamp's eyes widened in horror. "I'll talk!"

"Fine, then talk. Who gave it to him?"

"It was a Quathra demon, I think his name was Frar-something. Fraraka, Frarasa...y'know, like that. Ash met with him, I don't know what he looks like."

"Not necessary." She eyed the scared vampire, trying to visualize him as a human. How long had it been since he was alive? Did his family miss him, or were they long dead? "How do I contact this Quathra demon? Chants and rituals?"

"No, he's got voice mail. It was an L.A. area code, that's all I know, I swear."

"Thanks. You've been a real help." She let him go and pulled away. The vamp only had the chance to sigh in relief before she plunged her stake into his chest, and watched him turn into dust.

"Wish I could have helped you, too," she added in remorse. The clothes he had worn were only a few years out of date. He might have been turned before she arrived in Sunnydale, or sometime after. If it was the latter, then she had failed to save him.

Without knowing if the blood would still work, she couldn't have taken the chance of leaving him to turn or kill someone else. For not the first time, she loathed her job as the Slayer. She prayed that her hunt for this Quathra demon would prove to be worth it, if for no other reason than for wanting the endless nights of dusting vampires to finally come to a close.

The sight of himself in the mirror was still a jarring thing to behold, but the man looking back at him was nearly a stranger. The hair color turned out well, if a bit darker than his natural color--he wouldn't have his roots showing this time. The tape holding the gauze over his bite mark was barely sticking, and he was tempted to peel it off and show it for all to see. It was proof of what he was, what he'd used to be...and what he could be again.

He pushed the thought away angrily. Being maudlin was something he abhorred, and ever since he'd become human, it seemed like every emotion he produced was overwrought. Why did he feel so sad? Why did he have this...tightening in his chest, at the thought of his past as a vampire? Looking at his own reflection only caused the pain to grow worse, and sometimes he trembled uncontrollably. The new hair color didn't hide the fact of what he'd done, even if it fooled the mirror.

His fist raised in the air, ready to smash the glass and shatter the reflection. However, something within him stopped it from happening, and after a second, reality and common sense settled back in. It was a sensation of restraint he hadn't felt in decades...not since he was human.

Spike sank to his knees on the cold tile floor, the truth grabbing hold and unwilling to let go. He understood now why Buffy had been scared at the prospect of being with a vampire--he'd never had that moment, that knowledge of what shouldn't be done, to keep him from hurting himself or others. Being a vampire was guilt-free, for the most part. He'd only paused in hurting someone due to extenuating circumstances, not because it was wrong.

That was why Buffy could love him, now. He felt as if the clouds had parted, revealing a hidden light. Buffy wasn't giving him a chance in spite of being human...she was doing so _because_ of it. Even if it meant that he wasn't the monster he used to be, that the level of passion they'd achieved couldn't be duplicated.

He laughed in relief. Some of the weight lifted from his shoulder, as he realized Buffy wasn't expecting him to be the vampire. Recalling how receptive she'd been the night before, and just this morning, made him curse himself a fool. There was hope in these new circumstances, something he hadn't believed could ever exist for him, just a few months before.

The idea of turning back wavered in front of him, still taunting and tempting him, pointing out his weakened strength and shortened life. With a resolute set to his jaw, he stood up and walked over to the window in Buffy's room, to stand in the sunlight streaming into the room. What had once scorched dead flesh now made it sing with life, its harmful rays now reduced to the mild threat of sunburn. He wasn't in the shadows anymore; he was in the light, the same as Buffy. Spike had assumed that Buffy would join him on his level, but in the end, the reverse had come true.

Lingering for a few minutes in the sunshine, he decided that staying indoors wasn't an option for today. He was going to walk outside, see the world in something other than shadow. And he certainly wasn't going to hang out in an empty house with nothing better to do. Maybe Anya wouldn't mind if he came by, especially if he promised to buy something.

With a sense of freedom that he hadn't felt in days, he left a note for Buffy, locked up behind him and headed off at a slow pace to the store. Being alive definitely had its moments, he had to admit, and this was one of them.

* * *

She didn't notice the dark-haired man who walked into her store, at first. Wesley was arguing over some trivial detail, and Anya knew he was wrong, but telling him that didn't make him capitulate. It was infuriating, the way he clung to his books, just like Giles...

When she looked at the newcomer, she smiled in the customer-friendly way that was almost second nature to her now, and opened her mouth to tell him she would right with him. Then she _really_ looked at him, and she couldn't stop staring.

It was Spike, but human. Well, obviously human, but his hair was normal and he was wearing normal clothes. She liked it and disliked it at the same time, and she frowned as her mind couldn't decide which impulse was stronger. Finally, she went with stating the obvious.

"Spike, you're normal-looking!"

He smiled slyly, and Anya recognized him more by the gesture than his current looks. "Thought I could throw you off. Who's this? Giles the second?"

Wesley huffed indignantly, "My name is Wesley Wyndham-Price, if you don't mind. You must be William the Bloody. Hopefully, you're the sort that improves upon acquaintance."

Spike shrugged. "Depends on the other person, usually. For a proper gent like you, I'm surprised you haven't introduced the young lady sitting at the table with you."

At this, the lady in question smiled brightly. "I'm Fred. I came with Wesley to help out. Oh, I hope it's okay that I said it instead."

He took her proffered hand, smiling back at her. "Perfectly. So, you're all cracking the books, trying to figure out...what, exactly?"

Anya chimed in, "Well, Wesley's been hoping to find out if the Mohra blood is still potent enough to change vampires, but since it's daylight, we don't have any vampires to test it on. Plus, Willow's hell-bent on proving that the Mohra demon blood's power could be harnessed into a spell, but we all know that's a bad idea."

"Why is that a bad idea?" Wesley asked. "I think it sounds like a great plan."

"Bad in the sense that Willow can't hack channeling the dark forces anymore--she's power-loopy," Anya corrected.

"Still, it would be a tremendous boon to humanity. We shouldn't dismiss it as a possibility."

Anya shook her head, but said nothing. To her surprise, Spike responded in her stead. "Magic isn't to be taken lightly. And messing with something so big...well, all I know is, if the guys upstairs wanted vampires gone quickly, why bother with a Slayer? Why hasn't anyone else thought of it and tried it out?"

"Because it involves dark magic," Wesley intoned solemnly, now seeing the problem. "And those who use dark magic wouldn't want to get rid of them. Vampire dust is also a part of many dark rituals and spells. Wait, is _that_ what you meant when you said Willow was channeling dark forces..?"

"Well, duh. What else did you think I meant? The dark side of the Force, as in unflattering cowls and scary facial tattoos?"

"No, but...Willow?" He seemed utterly at a loss to comprehend it.

"Spike will fill you in," Anya replied, patting the former vampire's shoulder before heading back to the counter.

* * *

Buffy found the note Spike left her, so she headed over to the Magic Box, more than a little curious at his sudden need for hanging out with Anya. When she opened the door and scanned the place, she wondered if maybe she'd read the note wrong--he was nowhere to be found. There was Anya, and hey, Wesley and some girl she'd never met, plus some other guy sitting at the table...

Her mind froze, as he looked up to meet her gaze. He smiled when he recognized her, though she admitted that it was probably due to her look of shocked amazement as much as anything.

"Spike? Your hair...it's..."

"Brown," he filled in, clearly enjoying the moment. "It isn't quite the shade shown on the box, but I think it's passable. How about you?"

She could tell he was nervous to hear her opinion, but was trying to hide it under an air of nonchalance. "I think it looks great. And I barely recognized you, so it accomplished the main goal, I'd say."

Wesley blinked at the comment. "Does Spike need to be unrecognizable for some reason?"

"Yeah, the vamps in town think Spike was dusted, so if he's spotted walking around as a human...well, it wouldn't be a good thing. Hence the lack of bleached hair and no leather coat."

Spike shifted uncomfortably, as if missing the feel of the coat on his shoulders. Not wanting to go into his inferiority issues in front of Wesley and the unknown girl, she settled on placing a hand on Spike's shoulder as a gesture of assurance and affection. To her relief, he became relaxed and calm under her touch.

"So, what's the what on the Mohra demon blood? Did you bring someone to help you?" She asked pointedly. Wesley took the hint and introduced her as Fred, his associate, then continued to explain what he'd found. All told, it didn't amount to much.

When he mentioned needing a test subject, Buffy grimaced in memory of the vamps she'd staked at the docks. If it didn't work, then they would know for sure that it had a short viability...but it would also mean tracking down the Quathra demon. Or going straight to the source by finding a Mohra demon on her own.

What if the blood couldn't keep its power for long outside the demon's body? What if they couldn't find a way to store it indefinitely? Would they keep a Mohra chained up somewhere, tapping it like a maple tree whenever they needed to gather more? The thought sent icky chills down Buffy's spine. Maybe Willow's solution was the only long-term solution, after all.

She mentioned it to the group, and watched as each of them had their own reaction. Anya was obviously against the idea, Spike was casually indifferent, Wesley was hesitantly in support of it, while Fred thought it was the most logical course of action. It was Spike's reaction that she wanted most of all, however. With some persuasion, he finally owned up to what he felt.

"I don't know what to think," he admitted. "I can see Anya's point, but after walking around in the sunshine, and being treated like something other than a freak...I can't say that vampires have it great. The demons think you're pond scum, and the humans either hate you or run in fear. Not that the last was so bad, but if you're in the mood to hang out with something other than your own kind, you're out of luck. And...I know that I didn't want to be turned into some dark creature of the night, back when I was first human. I didn't understand what Drusilla was doing, and when I saw her face--it terrified and mesmerized me. Kind of like a deer caught in headlights, you might say.

"As a vampire, I tried to live up to the ideal--killing, fighting, the whole lot. Angelus had his silly artistry, but I was going to be Spike, the toughest of the bad. No more William the ponce for me," he smiled wryly, saddened but amused at the irony. "The thing I tried to hide was that I was still that poncy bugger inside. It was all just a facade, something I created to make myself over into what I believed I needed to be."

Buffy sat down next to him, moved by his openness. "The accent, the hair, the leather--it's not who you really are."

"No. Especially not now," he emphasized, but there was no bitterness in his voice. "Doesn't mean it's not a part of me, it's just not a big one. As for the spell, do I think we should do it? Yeah, as long as Willow's not casting the spell. We can't base the decision on what the Powers do or don't want. It's not like I'd listen to 'em anyway, granted, but it's us that have to live in the world, not them. If turning all vampires back into humans will save hundreds of lives, it's something we need to do."

He paused, looking as if he couldn't quite believe the words he'd said. Buffy had to admit she felt the same way. Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Where did all that come from?"

The smile was fleeting, but the echo of it stayed in his tone. "Today, actually. Epiphanies are interesting things. They kinda hit you out of nowhere."

"That's what they do," Buffy deadpanned back. Her heart was so full, it almost felt like it would burst. "So, you're okay with being human?"

"Yeah, I am. I won't be sending out announcement cards, but I'm adjusting. One thing I need to do, though, is talk to Angel."

"What? Why?"

"Last time we...talked, we didn't part on good terms. And I want to find out if he knew about the Mohra demon blood, back during that attack you told me about. There might be more demons in the area, too."

"We have someone looking into that," Wesley answered, rejoining the conversation. "However, I don't think visiting Angel is a good idea."

"That book you brought with you, it's Angel's, right? If he knew about the blood's effects, then he obviously never used that information for his own gain. If we're going to cast a spell to turn all vampires human, I'd like to know why."

Wesley was more withdrawn than usual, something that triggered an uneasy feeling in Buffy. Finally, the man took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose--the gesture was so familiar, it made her instantly think of Giles.

"I can't...I shouldn't say anything."

The chill of those words, so non-committal and yet committing everything, were like icy fingers around her heart. The cold shot down her spine and into her legs, making her numb. "He knew. He knew and he didn't tell me."

He sighed, unwilling to continue, but having chosen his course, he pressed forward. "He didn't want to tell you...because he _can't _be human. Not until the Powers That Be deem it as the right time. There's something else, but I won't divulge it. You'll have to ask him."

"Why?" She asked bitterly, more than a little pissed off. "You spilled this much, why not the rest?"

"Because my knowledge of it is third-hand--and because he ought to tell you himself, in person."

"Fine. Then I'll go with Spike and talk to him." She noticed Spike's sudden balk, which he quickly covered. "I can come with you, can't I?"

"Well, sure, love. I just figured on getting my head handed on a platter _without_ the audience, is all."

She rolled her eyes--boys and their egos. "Angel's not going to do anything of the sort while I've got something to say about it. If we leave now, we can get there by this afternoon. Are you ready, Spike?"

"As I'll ever be," he replied softly, earnestly. "Let's go find out what secret he's been hiding."


	8. Confrontation

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Update Ch. 8 - Spike and Buffy arrive at Angel Investigations, unannounced. Old wounds open, while festering ones heal.

A/N: Thanks to the reruns, I have extra time to work on the story. Hopefully, the next couple installments won't take as long. :)

* * *

**Chapter 8 - Confrontation  
**

* * *

Willow stared at Wesley, hoping that somehow she had misheard him. "What you mean, they left? We're supposed to have a Scooby meeting, like, right now!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it was something I said. Or rather, what I _didn't_ say." She continued to look at him blankly, until he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The girl by his side, Fred, glanced at Anya with a knowing look, while Xander remained as in the dark as Willow was. Wesley took the confusion as an opportunity to change the subject. "Anyway, as I understand it, you have an idea about turning the abilities of the Mohra demon blood into a spell...?"

"Oh, yes!" The prospect of making her theory into something useful overrode her curiosity. "It's totally cool, if it works. Using new blood, I think I could use it as the main component of a transmogrifying spell. It's kind of like the spell Dawn tried to use to bring Joyce back, with the Ghora demon egg, or the one I used to bring back Buffy."

Seeing how Wesley's eyes shot wide in alarm, she quickly hedged, "But that's not the real issue, because well, the spells aren't the same. In each of them, though, there's an element that represents life. For a vampire, a regular resurrection spell won't work because they're already walking around. With the Mohra blood, the blood of eternity, it won't be the spell itself that'll cause the change. It's just a way to capture that power and spread it out. Or in other words, the blood is like data, and the spell is like the CPU."

Her smile faltered as she realized that no one got her analogy but Fred. The brunette girl's eyes lit up and she replied, "I get it now! But how's the spell going to know what its target is? I mean, will it seek out only vampires? And won't the power from the Mohra blood be weakened over a really large area?"

"That's a good question," Willow answered back, her plan for creating a world-wide spell faltering. "I am, or I was, a really powerful witch, but you're right--it would weaken over distance. A normal witch could do a large crowd of vampires, I guess..."

"More like a small crowd, Willow," Tara replied, having just entered through the front door of the Magic Box. They weren't on the greatest of terms, but Willow had asked Dawn to ask her to come to the meeting. Just seeing Tara again made her heart leap, though she tried to keep a cool head. Mustn't be too eager, or else she might leave.

"W-what do you think of my idea, though?" Willow asked her quietly, nervous at her reaction. "Is it a good one?

Tara nodded slightly, and she let out a small sigh of relief. "But you can't cast this spell yourself. You know that."

"I know. That's why I wanted you here. I can try to help in creating the spell, but I'm still on magic probation-for-life. Maybe Wesley can help, too."

"I have cast a spell or two in my day," he replied, and he seemed to sit up a little straighter when Fred looked at him in amazement.

"As thrilling as the spell talk is," Xander interjected, "I'm more interested in getting results. And knowing why Buffy and Spike went to talk to Angel. C'mon, Wesley, you can tell us, right?"

At Willow's expectant look, the former Watcher's shoulders wilted.

"Oh dear."

* * *

There were undoubtedly a lot of justifiable occasions to be nervous. Your wedding, for example, or the moments aboard an airplane during a particularly nasty bout of turbulence. Spike was sure that visiting your former grandsire, who you'd last had tortured in an effort to retrieve a ring of importance, while having his ex-beloved draped on your arm was a solid contender for the top of the list.

He hated to admit that having Buffy with him eased his worries, but it was the truth. Not that he wanted her to be his bodyguard, but her presence might quell some of Angel's more...hasty actions.

The hotel looked like its era had come and gone, only to be on the cusp of being back in style once more. It spoke of starlets-in-waiting, days when smoking was not just acceptable, but almost required. He remembered those times, but not with the same fondness he might have had a few days earlier.

They walked in while the sun was beginning to set--Angel would be up by now, but unaware of their arrival. Buffy wanted it that way; she felt that calling ahead was a courtesy he didn't deserve. Probably so, he mused silently, but it never hurt to make sure the person you came to see was actually in. Wisely, he kept that observation to himself.

He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the shady interior of the hotel lobby. The poofter was nowhere in sight, but he did recognize the brunette who walked up to them, ready and eager to help. She started to give the company spiel, then croaked out Buffy's name in recognition once her brain caught up to what her eyes told her. Then she glanced at him in confusion.

"Do I know you?"

"Cordelia. As charming as ever," he smiled in the old way. "Love the haircut, by the way."

"Spike!" She caught on quick--good for her. Around Angel, she would need it. "Wow, you look way different. Not half as dangerous, but it just might be the clothes. I like the jacket, though. I guess you want to talk to Angel, huh?"

"If he's around," Spike shrugged, ignoring how Buffy was tense as a spring. "Sorry about dropping in without calling, but this isn't the sort of conversation you have over the phone."

Cordelia's demeanor softened, almost in relief. "You know, don't you?"

The woman's quietness only made Buffy's attitude harden further, if it was possible. "Not all of the details, which is why we're here. Where is he?"

"Right here," Angel called from the stairs, the sleepiness wearing off as he took in who his guests were. At Spike's appearance, he first stared in disbelief, then nodded as if it were expected. "Spike."

"Angel," Spike replied in the same non-committal tone. It wasn't reconciliation or hatred, but at least it was a place to start.

"What's the deal with you and the Mohra demon?" Buffy asked without pretense, her arms crossed in defiance. Spike glanced at her, though not in surprise. Her directness was one of the things he loved about her, and it was good to see it again after the post-death melancholy.

"Nothing to tell," Angel insisted, heading for the mini-fridge behind the counter. "Would you like to see Connor? He's upstairs taking a nap, but he should be awake pretty soon."

"Angel...no. Don't avoid the question." Buffy was trying to be demanding, but he knew her--the sense of betrayal was eating her up inside. "You knew about the Mohra demon blood, that it could turn you human, and you didn't tell me."

"Buffy, I--"

"You didn't tell me!" Her voice cracked, and both of them felt the pain under restraint. "Why? I don't understand any of this. Isn't it what you wanted?"

"It wasn't...I didn't want to hurt you. The circumstances were all wrong..."

"What circumstances? Being in your office? Wrong time of the month? What?"

He blew out a sigh, then put his hands on the counter. Cordelia watched him in sympathy, and Spike got the feeling she knew exactly was the problem was. "I didn't want to tell you, for this reason. You can't understand what it was like." Angel looked at Spike with an odd sort of appreciation, and the former vampire quickly understood what his grandsire meant.

"You _were_ human for a little while, weren't you?" Spike said quietly, but the words echoed in the large chamber. "And you didn't tell Buffy."

"No, she knew. But that day never happened. I'm the only one who remembers, now. It was for the best. It had to be done."

Inside her heart, Buffy felt the last burning ember for Angel flicker and fade into ash. He'd made the decision without her consent, without her knowing...twice. He got someone to turn back time--without asking her, she was sure--then let her stay oblivious to it all. Maybe it had been done with mercy in mind, but she didn't care anymore.

"You arrogant son of a bitch," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "When did you think it would be the right time? The battle never ends, Angel. I know better than most people that you have to grab for what you can in this lifetime, because it may not come your way twice."

Angel had the good sense to look guilty. "I know that now. I didn't, then."

"And that makes it okay?" Buffy's eyes glistened with tears, but they didn't fall. Spike wanted to reach out to her in comfort, but decided this moment needed to be hers, and hers alone.

"No, it doesn't. I couldn't tell you, and then I buried it down deep, so I wouldn't think about it every minute. That day...was the most exhilarating and terrifying day in my existence. But I couldn't be the champion for the Powers That Be as a human being. The prophesies were for a vampire with a soul, not a human being who'd once been a vampire."

A modicum of understanding flickered across Buffy's face. She knew the pain of prophesies all too well. "Have any of those mystical portents done you any good?"

"It gave me Connor," he said matter-of-factly.

So, that was it, then. Somehow, Buffy thought it would be more painful. Instead, there was a sense of relief and a lightness that she'd hadn't felt in years. "That's good for you. I'm glad."

Angel seemed to sense the break, too. A whisper of pain crossed his face, then it smoothed out into bland concern. "Thanks. Would you like to sit down?"

"No, I'm good. But I could...well, see the baby?"

Angel smiled with fatherly pride. "Sure. Cordy, could you take her upstairs?"

"Uh, sure thing," Cordy replied, caught off-guard at being addressed. As she followed Buffy upstairs, Spike caught how she looked at Angel and gave him a consoling pat on the arm. More of importance, he noted how Angel responded back, when he didn't think anyone was watching. It was probably the first time he'd ever felt pity for the big lug.

"You didn't come just to gloat, did you Spike?" Angel said as soon as the two women were out of earshot. "Why don't we head over to the office and have a talk?"

Spike opened his mouth to refute the statement, then closed it as he realized how transparent he must be, even to someone of Angel's thick-headed stature. "Lead the way, mate."

* * *

The infant boy that was Angel's son stared back at the Slayer in blank fascination. He burbled something which Buffy took to be consternation, then he realized his toes were incredibly compelling and something to be tasted.

"How can he exist?" She asked in wonder. It was unbelievable to think of Angel as his father, but Darla as a mother? It was impossible.

"It's a prophecy thing. We've gotten used to it."

"We? Oh, that's right. The visions." Buffy remembered what Angel had during their excruciating visit together, only a few weeks after she came back. She could tell how worried he was about Cordelia's health.

"Yeah, but it's better now," Cordy replied breezily. "I haven't gotten a headache since they put a little bit of demon in me."

Buffy stared at the other woman, unaware of how much her own gaze resembled Conner's earlier one. "They did _what_?"

"Oh, I don't have a tail or anything, if that's what's freaking you out. I can float, but that only happened once. Haven't figured out how to do it again. Anyway, it's what I had to do to keep the visions and also keep myself from dying. It wasn't a hard decision."

Slowly, the fact that the woman Buffy was looking at wasn't the Cordelia of old seeped into her consciousness. "It doesn't bother you, being part demon?"

"I don't think about it much, honestly. I'm still me, you know? Cordelia Chase, the former wanna-be actress turned seer. Plus, there's so much more to worry about--the mission, all those people who have _real_ problems. It's too important to let myself wallow in self-pity and misery."

Buffy felt a fair amount of shame. If Cordy of all people could put her goals and duties first, even in the midst of such a personal upheaval, then she had no excuses for not having her own house in order. She wanted to brush it off as being a difference in circumstances, but there was only so far she could take her self-delusion. It was time to start acting like Buffy the Slayer, and not Buffy the Slacker.

And she knew exactly where to start.

* * *

There was something very odd, Spike thought, and it wasn't just the fact that Angel was calmly sitting at a desk, not threatening him or scowling darkly in his direction. Even more odd, Spike wanted him to be upset, to rail at him for daring to poke his head in Los Angeles once again. This calmness unnerved him, to the point where he wondered if _this_ was Angel's secret agenda--to drive him mad with total serenity.

Spike broke the silence, unable to take it any longer. "Look, I came here to say something to you, and I might as well do it and get it over with. I wanted...to apologize, for, for everything. Especially the torture."

He swallowed, noting Angel's passivity, then went on, "I know I don't deserve forgiveness for what I've done in the past, and I can't ask it of you now. But I feel like if I don't, something in me is going to shrivel up and die. It hurts so much that sometimes I can't breathe. It's confusing and scary, and I used to wish for it all to go back to the way it was, but now I can't live without it."

"Your soul is convicting you," Angel explained. "You're trying to deal with more than a century of murder and mayhem. And you're right, you shouldn't come here expecting to be forgiven, but I've been where you are right now. In a way, I still am. It's not easy to ask for forgiveness, and you won't earn it from everybody. It took me a long time to learn this, so I'm passing this on to you in the hope that you take it to heart. You won't ever earn atonement for the lives you've taken. The only thing you can do is to continue on the path you're on, fighting the good fight. It's what I tried to tell Darla, before...before it was too late."

"Dru told me about that. I gather she didn't take having a soul very well."

"No, not in the least," Angel replied distractedly, his mind going back to that time. Spike thought he saw regret cross his former grandsire's face, but it was gone in an instant. "She did make the choice to live, even though it meant dying again in a couple months because of a terminal disease. I like to think it counted for something."

Spike was unable to give Angel any comforting platitudes, since for all he knew, it hadn't meant a thing in the end. "I don't understand how you could have given up the chance to be with Buffy, with all the niceties of being human going for you, for your prophecies and existential angst. I was tempted to go back in the beginning, but once I realized how she felt...there's no way I would give it up, now."

Angel was more silent than usual, and finally Spike realized that the other fellow's jaw was clenched rather tightly--almost painfully so. "What did you just say?" he asked, a hint of danger and imminent peril in his voice.

"They didn't tell you," Spike said flatly, now comprehending his error.

"Tell me _what_?"

"Um, maybe I should wait until Buffy--"

"Are you in love with her?" Angel managed to make it sound as perverse as possible, which didn't surprise him a whit. "And don't delude yourself that she feels anything for you, even if you _are_ human."

Now immensely pissed off, Spike stood from the chair as if he meant to take him on. Angel was already standing, furious. The sound of a female throat being cleared stalled whatever Spike had planned to say next, and he turned to find the woman he loved looking at the both of them in annoyance.

"I can't leave the two of you alone for even a few minutes, can I? What's next? Peeing on the walls and scratching up the furniture?"

Spike glanced at Angel, since he'd started it, after all. Angel gave his usual, 'who, me?' look at Buffy, and to Spike's everlasting satisfaction, Buffy rolled her eyes at someone other than him.

Angel shifted gears quickly, though. "Buffy, you have to set him straight. He thinks you feel something for him."

"That's because I do," she replied, and sidled up next to Spike, wrapping an arm around his waist. In response, he pulled her closer--partly for her presence, and partly to rub it in Angel's face that he couldn't have been more wrong.

As for Angel, he stared in disbelief, his brow furrowed in a way that would provide shelter for small woodland animals. "How--when did this happen?"

The couple looked at each other, not sure themselves when it all began. "Maybe we need to start at the very, very beginning," Buffy said tentatively, her eyes asking for his approval.

The gesture floored Spike, who had only dreamed of a time when Buffy would reciprocate his feelings. To have her treating him like a partner--not in battle, but in life--stunned him into silence. Eventually, his mind returned and he stuttered out an affirmative answer. He let her tell the tale with an occasional clarification by him, but for the most part he watched her in undisguised adoration. He couldn't have hidden it even if he'd wanted to, and this time, he didn't think about how it might affect Angel.

It wasn't until she finished that he thought to check out Angel's reaction. He appeared to be somewhat numb, although his hands were clenched into fists and there was a dazed look in his eyes. His mouth opened as if to say something, then closed without a sound. He fiddled with a letter opener for a few seconds, then finally asked, "So, you're happy? With him, I mean?"

"Yes, I am," Buffy answered, twining her fingers with his. Her glare was practically daring Angel to make something of it, and Spike wanted to crow in delight. Then, it hit him that without his newly-gained humanity, it might have been _him_ sitting by, while Buffy found happiness and joy with a bloke that wasn't him. It was enough of a dire thought to wipe the grin off his face.

"Then, that's all that matters. It's all I ever wanted for you," Angel said, a tad wistful. "I would never have guessed that it would be with Spike, but I can see he loves you. And I've seen how people can change, especially when put into dire situations. Sometimes, it can really surprise you."

Angel's line of sight went past them and over into the inner office. When Spike heard shuffling from that direction, it only confirmed his suspicions from before. He grinned, and the look on Angel's face when he finally saw it was priceless--like a boy who'd been caught in his sister's bedroom, rifling through her things.

"I only wish you could have the same happiness I do," Buffy said, obviously missing the fact that Angel was in the process of doing just that. Spike made mental plans to remedy that situation, but only once they were far, far away from the hotel.

Awkwardness descended soon thereafter, and while Angel played the perfect host and insisted they stay for a little longer, both Spike and Buffy agreed they ought to go. Angel grabbed Spike by the arm as Buffy left the office, and Spike tensed for the blow that didn't come.

"Spike, I know this is going to sound strange--heck, I can't believe I'm saying this, either--but if you ever need to talk to someone who understands, I'm here. Petty differences aside, I don't want to see you end up like Darla did."

A sudden thought sent a chill down Spike's spine. "D'you think Dru would come after me, if she knew? Wait, silly question--of course she would."

"How many people know you're human?"

"Just the gang. The vampires in Sunnydale think I'm dust."

"Keep it that way. Changing your look helps a lot, but it won't mean a thing if the wrong person hears you called 'Spike'."

"I know." Spike glanced back to Buffy, who waited for him in the lobby with severely restrained impatience. "But I don't want to be William, again."

"How about James? It's a nice name."

"Gah--what're you, daft? That's just as pansy. Hey, what about David? Killed Goliath and all that."

"Nah, it's not you," Angel replied, squinting as if envisioning the name on the former vampire. Then struck with an inspiration, he reached over to the bookcase and grabbed a good-sized paperback. "Take this--it's the baby book I used for naming Connor. I'm sure you'll get some use out of it."

There seemed to be a double meaning to that phrase, but Spike left it untouched. It was way too early to even think about going down that particular road. "Thanks. And next time we'll call before coming down, just in case you're...otherwise preoccupied."

Spike turned on his heel before he saw Angel's reaction, and suppressed the urge to whistle a jaunty tune until they were safely well out of earshot.


	9. A Swelling Tide

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Update Ch. 9 - While the gang maps out their plan for the vampire spell, Spike and Buffy have some time to themselves...unaware of what's around the corner.

A/N: This one is the longest installment yet, hence the longer amount of time in getting it to all of you. :) With any luck, the next one will be done before the new episodes arrive. _Revised 9/14/02_

* * *

**Chapter 9 - A Swelling Tide**

* * *

The bar wasn't the nicest or cleanest one in Los Angeles, by far. Clientele that would never have darkened--or lightened, in some cases--the doorstep of Caritas were crouched around rickety tables, grunts and garbled words exchanged as fast as the money under them. It was here that Lorne had traced the Quathra demon, a fellow by the name of Fraresaka, who was now squinting at his drink glass intently. Lorne knew from experience that he was looking for fingerprints on the glass, an action that spoke of the demon's personality almost as strongly as a stanza of "What's new, pussycat?" might do.

It appeared tall, dark and scaly was waiting for a customer, so Lorne stayed put at his table, a Recklek's throw away from where the Quathra sat. Sometime after he'd gotten near the bottom of his passable excuse for a Seabreeze, the appointment came up to the table--a Tfosorcim demon, looking horribly out of place in such a dive. They were considered the computer engineers of demonkind--overly literal, nebbish, and apt at causing others to flee at the prospect of holding a conversation with one.

After a bout of haggling, because frugality was another of the Tfosorcim's traits, the deal was done and goods changed hands. With palpable relief on both sides, the client left with his bag clutched tightly to his chest. Instead of getting up, however, the Quathra stayed behind at the table, sipping leisurely at his drink.

With a sigh, Lorne made an executive decision and got up from his chair, leaving the almost-finished Seabreeze behind. If it was true that the Quathra wouldn't deal with humans, then it fell to him to make the first move.

The Quathra didn't react as Lorne walked up to him, and he wondered if maybe he'd been too sneaky. Changing to a more flamboyant approach, he sauntered to the table and half-sang, "Fraresaka, dormez vous?"

The other demon sighed with elaborate patience, twisting his drink in his taloned hands. "That wasn't funny the _first_ time around. What do you want?"

"Ooh, touchy. I just wanted to lighten the gloomy mood, friend." At the other demon's glare, Lorne continued. "Right. Anyway, I hear you've got connections to items that you can't find at the local Wal-Mart."

"I do have such connections, but I don't make deals without getting to know my clients first. From the clothes and appearance, not to mention the ambiguous mincing, I'd say you were the Host of the former Caritas. I was sorry to hear of its demise."

"Me too," Lorne replied, a little surprised that instead of being too sneaky, he hadn't been sneaky enough. "I don't remember ever seeing you there, however."

"My cousin Haarjak was a customer of yours--Red stripes on his neck, likes the song 'Thriller'?"

"Oh yeah! He did a great moonwalk on stage, it nearly brought the house down...in a good way. Too bad about the glove, though."

"Yes, well," the Quathra flexed his taloned fingers, "it's hard to find gloves in our size."

"No kidding. Imagine me trying on hats." The other demon chuckled faintly, and Lorne knew he had his audience of one hooked. Time to reel him in. "So, I need to make an appointment with you about obtaining a certain item. Do you have a number where I can reach you?"

"What's the item?"

"It's Mohra demon blood. I don't need much, maybe a few ounces. And it needs to be pretty fresh."

"I can do that. It'll cost you fifty dollars an ounce--and I don't take kittens."

"Gotcha. I'll need to check back with you on the exact amount. I'm kind of acting on another's behalf."

"Human?" Fraresaka's eyes narrowed in distaste.

"No, strictly demon--vampire, in fact. Which is why I need it."

"Interesting. Another vampire came to me with the same request. This must be some new kind of revenge tactic, unless vampires are getting soft and rejecting their demon natures. Wouldn't surprise me--vampires have always been demonic step-children, of a sort." The demon reached into his robe and pulled out a small, colorful piece of paper. "Here's my business card. When you have the information you need, just give me a call. I'll need a few days to procure it, but it will be as fresh as you need it to be."

"Thanks," Lorne pocketed the card, outwardly nonchalant, while mentally he was doing an Irish jig. Angel wouldn't be happy about how much the blood cost, but Cordelia would talk him into it. They quickly said their good-byes, and Lorne glanced back only to check on his drink, which had already been cleared from the table.

The exhaust trickling through the alley seemed fragrant next to the odor from the bar, something Lorne noted as he started to make his way back to the hotel. It made him long for Caritas, for the classy and faint bohemian atmosphere, the easy camaraderie of humans and demons, and of course, the profit margin. He didn't pay rent at the hotel, but he didn't earn a share of the money, either. Maybe it was time to change his status quo--in one way or another.

* * *

The original plan had long been shot to hell, which explained why Spike was fidgeting in a discount store as Buffy sorted through the racks of shirts, trying to find nice yet inexpensive clothing in his size. They were supposed to be in Sunnydale by now, but Buffy changed her mind once she realized that she was in LA, the home of haute couture boutiques she couldn't afford. After perusing those for an hour or so, she'd come to the discount store to find the cheap knock-offs.

She hadn't made him hold her purse, but he was carrying their purchases, as most men seem to do at one point or another. Some of it was for her and Dawn--one particular outfit he'd selected for Buffy, for later use--but the bulk of it was his new wardrobe. Thankfully, he had money to pay her back; he knew she wouldn't take it from him, so he planned to leave a twenty here and there, stashed in coat pockets or in a different part of her wallet, hoping she would think it was found money. His resources weren't the cleanest, true, but he felt it would be put to good use that way. It would help the national economy and all that, putting money into circulation and increasing others' profit margin. In other times, the faintly patriotic sentiment would've surprised him, but he'd come to like the errant former British colony, soul notwithstanding.

Once Buffy had made her choices, with agreement from him, they checked out at the counter. The tired clerk didn't made eye contact as she started scanning items. Where the prior customers had seen rudeness, Spike saw a glimpse at what this young woman's job had done to her spirit. As the woman glanced up, he took the opportunity to catch her eye and smile. He marveled how such a small gesture could cause the woman's shoulders to straighten, her eyes to glint in friendliness, and a smile of her own to form.

Buffy must have caught his intent, because she smiled at the girl as well. The transaction finished with more energy than it started, and Spike lingered to watch her brightness fade at the next customer, who never looked the girl in the eye or muttered a single word as she rang up the items placed before her.

"It's a crime," he said softly as Buffy futilely nudged him to follow. "It's not the work that makes her remote, it's the way her customers treat her. She's little more than animated wallpaper to them."

"It's not intentional--their minds are elsewhere, worrying about their own problems." The way Buffy said it, he had the feeling she knew more about it than she would've liked. "It happens to the best of us."

"Still, she's a person, not a robot. And yes, I know it's ironic for me to be saying that," he added when he saw her eyebrows raise, "but it's true. I don't want to see that kind of a future for you, love."

Their eyes went back to the girl at the counter, whose next customer was a business woman talking into her cell phone, ignoring the girl's requests for payment. Customers behind started to get angry, and it only made her more nervous and agitated. She rose to the occasion, however, and began to cancel the sale in order to ring up the next person in line, which forced the woman on the phone to dig out and hand over her credit card. But after the minor crisis was averted, the numbness settled on her once more.

"Neither do I," Buffy replied quietly, then after a moment, lead him out of the store.

It was while they were in his DeSoto, heading back to Sunnydale, that Spike broached the question of future employment. Buffy figured it was triggered by the scene with the clerk, but she was secretly pleased he'd asked, even though she dreaded answering the question.

"I don't know, really. Nothing's changed--I'm still far from having a degree in anything, and have only waitressing as a job skill."

"I've heard temporary work pays well, and they're willing to work around what you can handle."

"Which would be slaying and shopping?"

He looked heavenward, as if pleading for help. "No, I meant your other skills. Organization, resourcefulness, leadership, problem-solving...shall I go on?"

Stunned, she turned to study his face in profile. His jaw was doing the clenchy thing, which made him endearing and infuriating at the same time. Where was all this coming from? Deciding it didn't matter, she leaned on the back of the seat like a child waiting to hear a story, smiling at him in unexpected delight. "Yes, please do."

He risked a glance her way, and she could tell he was fighting an unspoken impulse. After a second, he sighed and shook his head. "You're serious, aren't you? Don't you know it by now?"

"Know what?" She was truly baffled. Wasn't he just stroking her ego?

"You're an amazing person, Buffy. And don't give me that bashful fluttering, either--I'm not one to be impressed by modesty."

"Okay, no fluttering here. You think I'm amazing?"

"Yeah, I do," he replied sincerely. "I've never met anyone like you. Now, I'm not saying you're perfect, because who is, right? However, even when I first came to town, you amazed me. You have a heart for people, underneath the layers of careless indulgence you paint yourself with. You're the best Slayer not because you're stronger or better, but because of what you do with those strengths. A Slayer without an ounce of compassion would have staked me long ago...but not you, Buffy. You refuse to play by the same rules, and I think in the end, that's what will save you."

"Right, since it's worked so well in keeping me not dead," she answered dryly, but regretted the words when she saw his hands tighten their grip on the wheel.

"Buffy, that wasn't--it was my fault. You shouldn't have jumped. If I'd done my job, like I should've..."

"No, it's _not _your fault," she said sternly. "Don't even think that. I was warned that this would happen--I just hadn't realized it was right then and there, until it was happening."

He shook his head, sorrow and self-recrimination still showing in his face and voice. "You don't understand. It _is_ my fault. There's...something I didn't tell you. About this Doc character and why he was there."

She paused her initial reaction to deny it, when she saw how much this was killing him. And it scared her to think that maybe he was right after all, and that he did share some of the blame. "Go on," she said instead, trying to look supportive through her fear.

He stared straight ahead at the road, without a glance in her direction. She didn't think he would've been able to look her in the eye, regardless of him being behind the wheel. "I found Dawn at the cemetery, after Joyce was buried. She was going to try and raise her from the dead, using a book she'd taken from the Magic Box. I stopped her, but only because she was going to end up raising a zombie, and I didn't want that to happen to someone like your mum. So, I took her to see this Doc guy I'd heard about, who knew the ins and outs of resurrection in the demon world. He helped us, and I think you know the rest of that tale.

"God, I was so stupid...I never thought he was involved with Glory at all. He seemed to be a brighter fellow than that. But anyway, when Xander and I went by his place, I told him Dawn was in danger. I don't know why, but I thought he'd want to help, you know? Then I noticed he was going out of his way to _not_ help us, and then all hell broke loose. I couldn't even fight the bastard--Harris stabbed him while I went after the scrolls. If I hadn't gone to him in the first place, he would never have found out about Dawn."

Buffy had digested everything Spike was saying with a mixture of anger, sadness, and disappointment. And also a growing sense of gratitude. "Do you think he wouldn't have been there, if you hadn't talked to him?"

"What?"

He seemed a little bewildered by this, so she explained. "You said he was a follower of Glory, which means he knew when the portal needed to open. He had the scrolls, which you stole from him, so since he showed up at the right place and time, it's not like he had to consult them before he left. How do you know he wouldn't have been there, anyway?"

This managed to cause his jaw to slacken, and his eyes to narrow in thought. "I hadn't quite figured it that way, pet."

"You would have thought it through, eventually. Now, I'm not thrilled that you took Dawn to him. I thought you knew better than to expose her to that sort of danger...but as you said, you didn't know what his allegiances were. And if you hadn't found her in the cemetery, who knows what Dawn might've raised? I don't blame you, Spike. If anything, I'm glad you were there when you were--and for _all_ the times you were there for us."

He exhaled deeply, a sign of how tense he'd been. Relief crept into every muscle, until she could see him visibly sag, like a marionette cut free of his strings. Gradually, he pulled off the road until the car came to a stop, and then he began to cry softly, silently.

Her heart ached as she reached out to him, putting an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. How long had he kept this inside? For a moment, her mind flash on a memory so pale it felt more like a dream. Spike sitting across from her, telling her how every night he saved her...and then it finally slammed home. For months, he'd thought that her death was his fault; therefore, her resurrection and despondency were also due to him. If she'd never died, she wouldn't have come back wrong...

His arms were wrapped around her tightly, his head buried in her shoulder. "I don't deserve you," he said brokenly, his words muffled by her neck.

She closed her eyes to keep away the stinging beginnings of tears, as she held him and whispered back, believing it for the first time, "Same here."

* * *

With the use of Tara's magic and the combined strength of Wesley and Xander, they were able to pin a vampire up against a crypt long enough for Willow to make a small cut in its arm, and dribble a tiny amount of the barely glowing Mohra blood onto it.

The vampire cringed, expecting the worst. As the seconds passed--and nothing happened--the group began to worry.

"Do you feel any discomfort?" Wesley asked, concerned.

The vampire thought this over, then shook his head. "Nope. Except for being pinned against a wall."

"All right, then. We have no further use of you. Xander?"

Thinking he would be freed, the vampire grinned at their stupidity...only until the stake penetrated his chest. The two men dusted themselves off in a casual way, then Xander smiled and flexed his arm, "It's amazing what a couple years of construction work will do for the slaying. No more scrawny high school kid, huh?"

"I should say not," Wesley replied, impressed at how much everyone had changed in his absence. The true stand-out, however, was Willow. The young girl who had melted into the background in high school now stood out with confidence. He'd heard of her rise and fall in witchcraft; a victim of her own hubris, much like Icarus and his wings of feathers and wax. He, too, thought he could fly towards the sun and stay unscathed--Willow's fate, thankfully, had been more merciful and kind.

Wesley noticed how Tara and Willow reacted to each other's proximity as they headed back to the shop, and wondered how the couple had come to this. He knew very well that an addiction to something, be it physical or emotional, could bring out the worst in people, but it was hard to see what Willow might have done to cause such a rift. Angel's obsession with Darla hadn't been wholly surprising, but he couldn't fathom a change so profound in the girl he once knew. Maybe that was the crux of the problem--he'd been away for so long, he still remembered them as they were three years ago.

As he watched Willow now, restrained and yet as upbeat as ever, he decided to start clean with the entire group. Mentally, he shelved away the high school memories and began to observe anew, seeing a confident young woman cowed by her failure, but not broken. He worried that her fall hadn't served as enough of a lesson, but he labeled it as a cautious fear, brought on by too many years working for Angel.

When they returned, Anya was waiting for them anxiously. "They found him!"

"Found who?" Xander asked.

"The Quathra demon who sells the Mohra blood. A friend of yours tracked him down."

"That would be Lorne," Wesley said, smiling. "It's a good thing he did, because the blood we have has lost its potency."

"It's not cheap, apparently. I wonder if he has a supplier, or if he gets it himself...?" Anya trailed off, most likely pondering the idea of making a profitable business connection. "Well, anyway, Angel and Lorne are posing as buyers. They should have some in a few days."

"Good. That should give us some time to work on the spell," he said, looking pointedly at Tara and Willow. Tara nodded, and Willow's initial eager look faded as she remembered her part would be in research only. Wesley felt a twinge of uneasiness, but put it aside once he saw her demeanor change into a desire to help in any way she could. If she kept the right frame of mind, he was sure she would straighten herself out with little problems. His only worry was the unpredictability of the human psyche.

* * *

Gladly, Buffy and Spike returned to her house just shy of eight o'clock, drained from the drive back and the impromptu emotional moment spent on the side of the highway. Dinner was from a fast food place along the way, eaten in comfortable silence. Rather than causing awkwardness, the shared moment left them feeling closer, a result they didn't mind at all.

A quick call had reassured Buffy that Dawn was at the Magic Box, and would be coming home with Willow as soon as they came back from testing the Mohra blood. As Spike dropped off the bags in the family room, she called again to check up on the status quo.

The failure of the old blood wasn't surprising, but it was good to hear that the Quathra demon was willing to sell more of it. Xander volunteered to drive Dawn home when they realized that Willow was going to be spending an all-nighter at the shop, helping Wesley and Tara in creating a spell.

As Buffy hung up the phone, she noticed Spike behind her, watching her thoughtfully. She turned and gave him her best attempt at being coy and seductive at the same time.

"Like what you see?"

"Oh yeah," he replied, amused at the sudden twist. He looked her up and down appraisingly, with the sort of confidence he used to bluff around her--now, he didn't need to. "I never get tired looking at you, love."

The sweetness inherent in the statement caught her off guard. For a moment, she'd expected the old leering tone and bawdy comment. He seemed to pick up on that, and added, "Especially from the back."

She scowled in mock indignation. He laughed, which in turn made her grin, then chuckle. It was a relief after all the crying from before. The emotional roller-coaster of the past few days finally felt as if it was in the last few hills and turns. There would be other ups and downs, she knew, but it would be a relief when this particular ride came to an end.

A few steps carried her over to him, and he folded his arms around her gently. She rested her head against his chest and heard the muffled beat of his heart, a soothing sound that seemed so normal--and yet, so odd at the same time.

"You tired?" He asked, his voice low.

"Uh-huh. You?"

"Dead on my feet...figuratively, of course," he answered wryly. "That's what happens when you start keeping daylight hours."

"I wanna wait up for Dawn," she mumbled back, and tightened her arms around his waist. "Don't stay downstairs tonight."

"Well, I don't see where--wait, hold on." He looked down at her, and she stared up at him in all seriousness. "You mean...with you."

"Yep."

"In your bed."

She nodded, enjoying the awed look on his face. Then he started to sputter out, "But Dawn is...and then Willow will be...not that I oppose the concept, mind you, but--"

"I meant sharing a bed to sleep in," she cut him off mercifully. "Side by side, asleep. I'm _way_ too tired to even think about...that."

"Oh," he replied, more grateful than disappointed. "All right, then."

"But I'm not too tired for some cuddle-action."

He flashed a grin and replied, "Lay on, MacBuff, and damn'd be him that first cries 'Hold, enough!' "

She stared at him for a puzzled second, then rolled her eyes. "Ugh, Shakespeare--I'm too pooped to translate that into modern English. C'mon, scholar boy, to bed with you. Before you start quoting sonnets or something."

He knew better than to argue, apparently, since he took the bags from the family room and carried them upstairs. Buffy watched him go, enjoying the sight of his retreating figure.

He glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "Like what you see, pet?"

"Oh, yeah," she answered slyly. "Nothing turns me on more than a man with a nice package...except for when he's carrying all my purchases up to my room."

"Ha ha. Very droll," he replied sarcastically, although clearly not offended--if anything, his gait swaggered a little more. By the time he disappeared around the corner, Buffy was seriously reconsidering her plan to wait up for Dawn.

The sound of Xander's car in the driveway perked up Buffy's spirits, and soon her younger sister was walking through the door, looking glad to see Buffy there. Dawn's gaze fell on the unmade couch, and after a questioning look at Buffy, the eldest Summers found herself explaining where Spike was, and why.

Dawn's eyes widened as Buffy finished, but then she fell into a disinterested pose. "Okay, whatever. As long as you're not having sex loud enough to keep me awake, I'm fine with it."

"Dawn!"

"I'm going to sleep now. You'd better do the same," her younger sister replied, a small knowing smile taking up residence on her face. With that, she bounded up the stairs and Buffy could hear the girl's door close firmly, as if trying to seal herself away from the possibility of seeing something she shouldn't.

Sighing, Buffy climbed the stairs and went into her room, grateful for the end of the day. Spike was lying on his side, waiting for her. His chest was bare, and she hoped it wasn't the same underneath the sheets as well. Hesitantly, she started to strip in front of him, her modesty pointless but still emerging, nevertheless. He merely watched as she changed into her pajamas, then while she padded over to the side of the bed nervously.

"Tell me you're wearing something, please," she pleaded.

He pulled the covers away, to reveal dark sweatpants. "It's the closest thing I've got in those bags that'll do for sleeping in."

She let out a breath in relief, and joined him under the covers, fitting her body next to his. "Sorry about that. I wasn't thinking."

"It's all right. If all goes well, I don't think either one of us will have much use for nightclothes." His chin tucked into the curve of her neck, as his right arm draped over her waist. The voice was teasing, but she could feel his body tense.

In answer, she tilted her head just enough to capture his lips with hers. The kiss was soft and quick, holding a promise of more to come. At that, Spike relaxed, his arm pulling her closer. In seconds, he was asleep, and Buffy soon followed him...glad that the day was finally over.

* * *

The fishing town of Cordova was moderately large by Alaskan standards, which wasn't saying much. The local newspaper was more of a newsletter, written and printed out by one of the townspeople. One big news day was when someone found a dead otter in the middle of the road, which gave the town a nickname in honor of the fallen mammal--Dead Otter.

But even the smallest of towns have a bar, and that's where most of the inhabitants were that evening. Fishermen bemoaned the lack of a catch, and several complained that things were still bad more than ten years after the Valdez spill. Some of the salmon had mutated in horrible ways, and no one knew how long it would take for nature healed itself.

A dark-haired lady walked in, her eyes glittering with a child-like glee. Most paid it as the reaction of a tourist to experiencing the longer nights for the first time. She gathered a lot of attention as she strolled through the bar, her presence and strange beauty drawing all male eyes towards her. She seemed to gather energy from the crowd, grinning as she breezed past several captivated men to find her way to the bar.

The man she sat next to was handsome enough, his hair turned blonde by the sun and his skin toughened by the winds from the Pacific. He smiled his best smile at the woman, hoping to impress her with wild stories and maybe get some...gratitude in return. She eyed him appreciatively, and he felt his chances rising with each lingering gaze.

"Like what you see?"

"Oh yes..." she replied, and her accent immediately identified her as British. He didn't know where from--maybe London? "Lovely."

He didn't really feel like making the effort of being all polite, since he'd already attracted her attention. But it wouldn't hurt to give the girl a quick show of the northern lights before heading back to his place. "Would you like to see the lights? I know a great place to watch them, it's not far."

"My mother used to say it was fairy dust, and my mother was hardly ever wrong. I've come quite a long way, you see. And I knew that when I saw you, you could help me find it."

He had the feeling that all wasn't quite right with the lady next to him, but he didn't think it was his concern. She'd gotten here herself, so she wasn't an invalid--and if the lights ended up turning her on, so be it.

A hour later, they pulled up to a ridge overlooking a dense forest. In the distance, the northern lights played across the night sky, ribbons of color stretching around the horizon. Mike noticed the woman was transfixed by the sight, and he couldn't help smiling at the results. With a practiced ease, he put his arm in position for the casual drape behind the shoulders, figuring his chances were increasing every moment. But instead of the welcome he expected, she got out of the truck and headed closer to the edge.

A little worried, he got out and followed her, carefully watching for any signs of her planning to take a dive off the edge. She swayed and danced to music that played only for her, but didn't seem inclined to throw herself off the cliff. He counted it as a positive sign, and allowed her to continue her little dance.

When she turned to him at last, her eyes were half-closed in ecstasy, a grin on her face that made him think she was hearing a joke meant only for her ears. Then a shadow fell across her features, her eyes going wide in shock. He took a step forward, planning to help in some way, but she pulled her arms around herself as if warding off a bitter chill.

"No, no, this is all wrong. He's gone away from us. It can't be abided, something has to be done," she rambled, then her wide eyes fixed on him, causing a chill to run down his spine. It suddenly felt like a huge mistake to bring this woman out here, where no one would find him if she decided to kill him and take the truck. A nervous laugh nearly bubbled out of him, the idea of this fragile-looking lady taking him on almost crazier than she appeared to be.

"Look, I don't know what the problem is, but if you want to go somewhere else, just say the word," Mike offered, glancing back at his truck in meaning and for his own peace of mind.

"Yes, I need to go somewhere else. South, to the land of Slayers and Angels," she smiled, and for a moment, he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then the moon hit her profile, and he realized he wasn't seeing things at all, to his growing horror. "And you can bring me to him."

Too quick to be believed, she lunged at him, her face distorted in a terrible visage. Fangs descended on his throat, while her hands clamped down on his arms, pinning him in place. He tried to scream but nothing came out, the shock overriding everything else in his brain.

He felt his life draining away as she drank, to the point of encroaching darkness, then she pulled away and cut a thin line along her neck. Her hands brought his near-lifeless body close to her like an infant, cradling him as she urged him to drink from her. Dimly, he did as bidden, barely able to comprehend what she said next.

"Don't worry, my William. I'll make everything right again, just like it was before."


	10. Going Forward

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. UPDATE - Ch. 10 Angel and Lorne prepare to see the Quathra demon, while Spike decides it's time for the next step between him and Buffy.

A/N: This was a hard chapter to get through, not because of the subject, per se, but mostly due to the more recent episodes of Buffy. I think you know which ones I mean. I managed to finish this before heading off to Vegas, so you all wouldn't start to think I'd abandoned the story. :)

* * *

** Chapter 10 - Going Forward**

* * *

If the previous night had told Spike anything, it was that the time for moving forward had arrived. Falling asleep together was so normal, so simple, it made the next step only logical. And besides, there _was_ that one night in the abandoned building, and the other time afterwards, which made it seem almost expected. All these reasons, however, didn't stop his hands from sweating at the thought.

He had a plan, a way of making this better and more meaningful than the previous shag-fest. It was probably sappy and pathetically romantic, and risked the chance of emasculating himself, but it was all for Buffy, really. Well, and himself too, but mainly it was about showing her the depth of his love for her. With luck, he might have a spoken return on that regard, something he wanted badly, almost as badly as...

"...a hot dog?"

He blinked and looked down to Buffy's inscrutable face. "Sorry?"

"I said, do you want a hamburger, or a hot dog?" He glanced over to the waiting employee behind the counter of a greasy shack set up on the edge of the converted pier. This particular pier had been converted into a recreational attraction, although mild in comparison to some. The warm day had brought out tourists and locals to the beach, and Buffy had brought him here to 'work on his tan'. He recalled her talking about stuffing themselves with some fast food, but he must have drifted off into his thoughts, the way he used to back in his human days.

And so it was again, he thought ruefully, not happy to see some of the old traits reappear. He smiled for Buffy's sake, then ordered a hamburger. At least he could be vaguely sure that the meat patty would be all bovine, rather than the disturbing mix of animals inherent in the ersatz sausage.

Spike could already feel the burn starting on the back of his neck, after being out for only a half hour. The perils of pasty white skin now were haunting him. He was sure that by the end of the day, his face and neck would be burnt and peeling--not an attractive sight for a prospective suitor hoping to impress his lady. Then again, her own skin was far from a Californian tan these days, so maybe the effect would be mutual.

Once they'd gotten and paid for their lunch, they found an unoccupied table and sat down to enjoy the ocean view. Being together like this was so unusual, and yet so amazingly pleasant, he would have sat there happily if Buffy hadn't prodded him to eat.

She looked happy, and had told him many times that she was happy with him, but she'd never said she loved him...not even after all this time. He didn't expect a profession so soon, but his memories of Riley caused a cold knot to settle in his stomach, and he was pretty sure it wasn't due to the burger. He knew she was afraid of opening herself to someone, terrified that it would backfire; Angel had given her more than physical scars. Her last boyfriend hadn't been able to pierce through the walls she'd built around herself. He wondered if he could succeed where others had failed.

* * *

The day slipped into afternoon as Willow, Tara, Wesley and Fred studied various grimoires and reference texts, hoping to turn their spell into a vampire panacea. The night before had been just as fruitless, giving them only a hint at how such a spell could be constructed, let alone reproduced on a large scale. Anya wasn't too happy at their plan and said so loudly, and often. When Xander arrived at the shop, straight from work, they were grateful for the distraction he provided.

Finally, Tara sighed and closed the book in front of her. "This isn't going to work."

"Don't think that way--of course it will," Willow smiled in encouragement. "We'll find a way."

"I think we need to give up on doing it on the larger scale, and focus on creating the spell," Fred suggested quietly, drawing their surprise. "We have a structure in mind, and an idea how to implement it."

"We'll need blood in order to test it, though," Willow said. "Besides, creating a spell means nothing if we can't change more than one vampire at a time. We'd be better off just having the blood on hand."

"And that would become expensive," Wesley added, seeing her point. "Still, it would better to have a functioning spell than nothing at all. Would the incantation be hard to create?"

Tara shook her head. "No, not once we know what we're doing, exactly. We just have to be careful on the phrasing."

"If we don't make it clear, something bad could happen," Willow continued with a knowing look. "You make one word mistake, and you could be turning the vampire into a Mohra demon, instead of a human being."

"Or making them a zombie," Tara said with a shudder. "For all we know, maybe the 'blood of eternity' can't be used in a proxy form. Maybe it has to make contact with blood in order to work."

"Then maybe what we need is a big aerosol can," Fred grinned. At everyone's blank stare, she clarified, "You know, to spray it at them like mace? Create a mist that covers a large area? Except that I just realized you'd need to have them all bleeding, so forget I said anything."

"Well, it was a plausible idea, Fred," Wesley offered a little too earnestly, smiling at her in a way that didn't warrant it. He didn't notice the two witches' sly glance at each other, or the small grin they momentarily shared.

* * *

"So, are you going to stand there primping your hair all night, or what?"

Angel turned to see Cordelia leaning in the doorway, miffed but in a playful way. He smiled self-consciously and shrugged. "Well, it's not like I can look in a mirror or anything."

"You look fine," she replied, and the honest sentiment caught him off-guard.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." She walked past him to check on Connor, but talked over her shoulder. "The shirt is way too Wine Bar-Undead-Goth, but I guess it's meant to be that way. Gotta look like the evil undead, right?"

"Right," Angel agreed distantly, and reminded himself to put the shirt in the giveaway pile after they came back. Now that she pointed it out, the shiny blood-red silk _did_ scream "vampire" from across the room.

Lorne poked his green, horned head into the room and grinned at Angel. "Now there's a shirt to die for! Or die in, I suppose."

Angel silently vowed to burn it instead. "So, this Quathra demon...Fraresaka? You think he'll show?"

"For eight ounces of blood, at fifty bucks an ounce, he'd be crazy not to. Besides, tonight is merely the pre-lim--he wants to meet you, build a rapport with the customer."

"And maybe find out a little info on why we want it. He's suspicious, which isn't good. It means he's smart."

"To get blood from a Mohra without getting killed, he'd have to be," Lorne replied darkly.

Cordelia walked over and straightened Angel's collar, then smoothed out the fabric in a way that did nothing to calm him down--quite the contrary. Lorne gave him a raised brow and a smirk from over Cordy's shoulder, and Angel threw him an annoyed look.

She caught his glare, but misread the reason behind it. "Oh, come on, Angel, don't be a sulky baby. You can stand a little collar straightening, can't you?"

He could handle a lot more from her than that, but he kept the thought to himself. Instead he replied, "You'll make a great mom someday, you know that, right? You catch everything. It's like you've got eyes in the back of your head."

"No, I just had the one. Thankfully, it was very, very temporary."

When she pulled away, Angel found himself missing the loss of her presence. He pointedly ignored Lorne as he grabbed his coat off of the chair. "Time to meet our supplier, wouldn't you say?"

* * *

Dawn was acting weird, Buffy observed, which by itself wasn't a great indicator of trouble. As the months after her resurrection went by, puberty had taken root and made her sister's life into one huge melodrama. If she didn't meet up with her friends, she would die. If Kevin Taylor smiled at her, she would be dying on the spot. And if she saw Lisa wearing the same dress for the spring fling, she was going to die.

Buffy hadn't realized that being almost twenty-one could feel so ancient, when she looked back on her own teenage years and couldn't remember things like boys and clothing being so important. Maybe it was because by Dawn's age, she was fighting for her life every night, hoping to beat the odds and become the first Slayer to ever retire.

However, Dawn's current weirdness was odd, even for her. She stayed quiet the whole way in the car, a slight dopey smile on her face that only budged when her most-hated-song-in-the-world came on the radio. As Buffy dropped her off at Xander's apartment, Dawn didn't argue or pout at the restrictions imposed on her. Buffy wasn't even sure _why_ Dawn wanted to stay over at Xander's, rather than a friend's house. When asked, Dawn said something about tradition and wanting to try out his new Xbox, despite the fact that she abhorred video games of all kinds.

It wasn't until she arrived home that Buffy started to understand the plot. Scheme might have been a better word, as she could smell something delicious, and the sound of someone rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. The dining room table had two place settings, with goblets and all the fancy trappings that had tended to mystify her as a child. The only light came from two lit candles, illuminating food that certainly hadn't been cooked in her house, and certainly not by the person she suspected was behind all this.

She took in the scene with a growing amazement. All the pieces fell into place--Spike's odd insistence about heading home after lunch, and his need to go out and 'check on a few things'. She found herself staring at the plates, the marvelous food, and the curious lack of anyone present to greet her.

"Hey, I'm home," she called out, and couldn't help a slight smile at the sound of cursing coming from the other room. Spike bolted out the doorway in haste, a paper-wrapped bouquet in hand and his white oxford shirt not quite buttoned up all the way, the sleeves partly rolled up. The dark grey slacks had a matching jacket somewhere, she knew, but apparently she'd come home a little faster than expected.

"Oh, um, you're back," he smiled nervously, then handed her the flowers. "These are for you."

Blue asters were mixed with white lilies and peach-pink roses, the sort of thing a flower arranger would probably cringe to see, but she didn't care. Somehow he knew her favorites, and that meant more to her than the perfunctory dozen red roses with baby's breath.

"These are beautiful, thank you," she said as she hugged him, already feeling overwhelmed. "And the spread is amazing. What do you do for an encore?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, love," he replied, giving her the look that always stole the strength out of her knees. "Right now, it's time to sit down and eat."

"Okay...wait, not okay. I need to change," she glanced down at her t-shirt and jeans, a couple days away from being Laundry Day-wear. She handed him the flowers and bolted upstairs before he could stop her.

Upstairs, she tried to tear through her closet calmly but quickly. What do you wear to a dinner date at your own house? Then it hit her--Willow wasn't here, and Dawn was staying over...oh boy. This was _it_. The moment that Spike had wanted to be perfect, deliberate. And she'd come home early, dressed as if planning to clean out the garage. She didn't think there was a big enough rock for her to crawl underneath.

With renewed determination, she dug through her closet until she found the object of her search; a backless, black halter dress with a side slit that was enough to jumpstart the imagination. It had called out to her from the sale rack in L.A., as one of the last vestiges of the prior season's fashion. Her hair was twirled into a quick bun, although she knew it was only going to come down later. A little make-up finished off the look, and she slid into a pair of strappy heels before heading back downstairs.

He'd taken the time to put on the jacket and tie, and Buffy felt a small pang of regret. The more laid-back style fit his personality; the Spike she knew would never wear a suit and tie. However, she had to admit he looked great all dressed to the nines, making it seem effortless on his part. She was lucky that Slayer reflexes helped with balancing on high heels, or else she would have been tumbling down the stairs when she caught sight of the expression on his face. The mix of awe and adoration shining in his eyes was enough to make her forget to breathe, and she clutched the banister for support.

"You like?" she asked, a little nervous despite the approval in his eyes.

He nodded, momentarily speechless. Then he cleared his throat and added, "Uh, yeah. You look...stunning. Breathtaking."

"Thank you," she answered in a small voice, secretly pleased. With the heels on, she could meet his eyes on a more equal level, and it felt so personal and intimate that she eventually had to tear her eyes away. Spike gestured her to go ahead of him, and she allowed him to pull a chair out for her, the gentlemanly act so out-of-sorts with how she pictured him that she couldn't help staring as he sat down himself, unaware of her perusal.

What happened next was unusual only in its commonality. They ate, they talked, they enjoyed the simple moment of being with each other and learning more about the other person. Buffy watched how Spike's manners were oddly impeccable, the idea so strange it felt like a rebellious thought in her head. She suddenly found herself not knowing this man across the table from her, but also knowing him better than anyone else.

Buffy had worked up the nerve to ask more about his past by the time they'd finished dinner. He fiddled with the stereo as she lounged on the couch, waiting for him to join her. The music changed from the soothing background melodies while they ate, to something more classically inclined to induce necking. She hid a grin behind her hand, not wanting him to see how transparent he was. Thank goodness there hadn't been any rose petals on her bed, or else she _would_ have laughed.

He had a glass of wine waiting for him on the coffee table as he walked back, although she'd abstained. The alcohol was obviously meant to soothe his nerves, as he took a sip before settling next to her. Despite the fact that her and booze were not meant to mix, she didn't want anything that could cause her control to slip tonight. Seeing him now, she was reminded again of how human he was, and therefore how easy it could be to hurt him unintentionally.

"Spike--I know you've told me about being turned, and a little about who you used to be...but I want to know more. About you, about how you lived, who your friends were, about the stupid childhood things you did. I want to know you, all of you."

He visibly swallowed, his hands unsure what to do with the wine glass in his hands. "You know about me."

"No, I don't. Not completely. I realized that tonight as we were talking. You...you're different. I knew you, or at least I thought I did. Now, I don't know."

"I'd rather talk about you," he replied. "Have you given any thought on a career path, goals and whatnot?"

"Spike..." For the first time, saying the name felt odd, almost wrong. "William. Please, I want to know."

"Don't say that name." His voice lowered darkly, without inflection.

"Why?"

"Because he was no one of any note." He took a swig of his wine.

"He was..._is_ you. That makes him something, as far as I'm concerned."

His smile was bitter as he sat down his glass. "Buffy, I guarantee you don't want to hear this."

"And you'd be wrong about that," she challenged back. They stared at each other, as if waiting for the other person to give in first. Finally, Spike sighed and slouched back into the couch.

"All right, you win. Tonight will be completely shot to hell, but I guess that can't be helped. You wanna know who William was? He was a pathetic wanker who had a spine made of jelly and a propensity for falling in love with the wrong women. He was too rich to be poor and too poor to be rich, so he was tolerated in both, but never accepted into either realm. He wore glasses and he wrote bad poetry. He lived with his mother and siblings, and had no one who would claim to be his friend. He was, as you Americans would say, a loser. Satisfied?"

His tone was filled with self-hate and loathing, but his posture told of deep sorrow inflicted by painful memories. Ones that she'd had dredged up by her request. However, her feelings of guilt were outweighed by a growing sense of annoyance. "Is this what you've been hiding?"

"Yeah. Pitiful, isn't it? I'm sure you'll be fleeing in horror or laughing any moment now."

"Am I laughing? Or fleeing? You know, sometimes I wonder how much brain can possibly be left, with a skull as thick as yours." She watched as he turned to stare at her, a sliver of hope breaking through the gloomy disposition. "Do you think I like the way you behaved as a vampire? Newsflash, I didn't. If you weren't annoying the heck out of me one minute, you were likely irritating someone else.

"But the night before I died, you were so...different. More focused, I guess. And when I came back, you were so gentle with me. I came to you because I felt comfortable with you, though I didn't realize the feeling wasn't mutual."

"It was the sweetest torture, love," he said, his voice unstable. Her words were moving him deeply, but she wasn't done yet.

"I didn't mean for it to hurt, I really didn't. I was so sure I knew what I felt that I didn't think about why I wanted you, or how I felt when you were around. I was feeling something, but it wasn't for the vampire. It was for the man he used to be."

Spike nodded knowingly, and she deflated a bit when she realized that he already knew. How was he able to divine her own thoughts and feelings before she did? With a deep breath, she plowed on, partly hoping he'd figured this one out, as well.

"Remember when I told you that I wanted to find out if I could fall in love with you?" He nodded again, looking at her curiously. "I think I have. No, I am. In love with you, I mean."

His eyes widened, the emotions naked and exposed on his face. Elation, joy, surprise, and a hint of fear that he might be dreaming it all. "Honestly?"

"Truly, honestly, absolutely in love with you," she replied, feeling her own joy bubble up inside. It was a fragile thing, wary of the blaze inside her, but she didn't try to force it down into the dark. Things were still new and raw for her, but she wanted to feel love again. It was time to risk the pain, because he was worth it.

He kissed her soundly then, and she leaned in, welcoming him. The kiss soon dissolved into shorter ones, not too unlike the session they'd had while under the stairs at the Bronze. His hands roamed along her back, enjoying the feel of her skin and taking exploratory paths beyond the edge of the fabric. It was all progressing nicely until she remembered they were still on the couch.

In the meantime, Spike had figured this out, as well. He pulled back and flicked a glance up the stairs. She nodded, unable to speak, and tugged him up the stairs. The slam of the door echoed down the hallway, and if anyone had been around to hear it, they might have also heard the squeak of springs and floorboards groaning their protest.

* * *

Spike could tell it wasn't morning--he wasn't a vampire any longer, but sometimes it seemed his body would forget it and wake him up, anyway. Groggily, he reached over for Buffy and found a warm but empty spot instead. With a frown, he glanced around and noticed the bedroom door ajar and a light in the hallway. In seconds, he recognized the sound of running water.

Unfortunately, this reminded his body of another important bodily function, and he groused his way out of bed, following the light to its source.

The door only partly closed, and he could see her drying her hands on a towel, her hair in disarray and clothed only in his dress shirt. It was much too big for her, and it made her look even more fragile than she really was. He found that while seeing her in his shirt was sexy, the little black dress from tonight had nearly driven him to the brink. He couldn't remember if it was intact, but he hoped it was.

She smiled as he came in, the moment only awkward because of the extremely late hour. "Did I wake you?"

"Not at all. You mind if I, uh..." he gestured vaguely.

Buffy quickly understood and scurried to get out of his way. "I'll leave you to it, since I don't think we've reached the 'comfortable in the bathroom' stage."

"You mean to tell me there's actual stages to this sort of thing?"

She laughed at his almost-serious question. "Just wait till you meet my father," she added as she kissed him lightly, before going back to bed. She left before she could see the quiet panic show on his face.

As he cleaned up afterward, he took a look in the mirror to gauge the condition of the old bite mark. To his surprise, he noticed that he was starting to show pale red marks along the back of his neck and his torso...marks left by fingers and hands pressing in too tightly. He'd felt it at the time, but his mind had been focused elsewhere. A couple were sore enough that they might turn into bruises, and he feared what Buffy would do if she knew.

She was waiting for him as he came back to bed, the shirt discarded on the floor with the rest of the clothes. Spike slid in under the covers, making sure his back was out of view. Her arms pulled him close, her strength obvious but gentle, and he waited for her to fall asleep before he let his fatigue reclaim him into a dreamless slumber.


	11. Discovery

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. Update - Ch. 11 Buffy and Spike have a much needed talk, and Willow finds a way to make the spell feasible--but will it work?

Author notes: Big apologies here--I had to redo my original plan on the ending, hence the extra-long time in getting this done. From here on in, it should be smooth sailing. :) _Revised 9/17/02  
_

* * *

** Chapter 11 - Discovery**

* * *

Willow sat alone in the Magic Box, staring at books that refused to yield answers. Wesley and his friend Fred had headed to the motel some time ago, while Tara had gone back to her dorm room only half an hour ago. Unknown to them all, Willow had doubled back to the store, to continue searching for a solution.

There was a way to make the spell work--Willow could feel it in her bones. It taunted and mocked her, hovering around the edges of her consciousness, unwilling to come forward and be known. She sighed in near defeat and rested her head on the pile of books in front of her, waiting for inspiration to come.

It might have been a few minutes later, or as much as an hour--she couldn't be sure. Time didn't have meaning here, she knew unconsciously as she dreamed of being in her old dorm room, the one she'd shared with Buffy. Willow's side was messy and unkempt, while Buffy's was clean and neat, the way she wanted her side to be. It filled her with shame, despite the fact that the reverse had been true.

"I'm not going to find the answers here," Willow said to herself, but not knowing where else to look. Suddenly, the scene around her flickered into her old bedroom at home, just as messy as the prior one. Among the papers scattered over the bed were notes on chemistry, biology, physics, and calculus, at a level she'd surpassed long ago. What she needed was a way to make this spell something that could change all the vampires of the world, something powerful...

It came to her in a flash of awareness, one that startled her awake. With renewed effort, she searched through the books on the table until she found the right tome--a listing of spells of plagues and curses. Nothing was more devastating than a plague, and the biology notes had triggered the memory of studying pandemics in high school. A spell as an airborne virus, which would infect the vampire host and regenerate itself using the demon's magical energy. The matter of getting it into the bloodstream was still problematic, but there was a chance it could work, now. And it wouldn't require a large source of power in the beginning--someone of Tara's relative strength could cast it.

In a matter of minutes, Willow had a basic outline of the spell thought out and written on paper. Content that something had been accomplished, she finally left the shop and started to head home...when she remembered that Spike had asked her to find somewhere else to stay for the night. She really didn't want to intrude on them in any way, shape, or form, so she decided to head to her parents' house. They wouldn't even notice her coming in so late, anyway.

As she crept into her old bedroom, the dream came back to her vividly; instead of a messy room, though, she found one straight and neatened, as if it had been waiting patiently for her to come back. With a distant smile, she crawled into bed and quickly fell asleep--and this time, her dreams were blessedly common and ordinary.

* * *

The meeting place was dry and well-lit, Angel noticed, already two steps up from the normal demon haunts in Los Angeles. It was a narrow room that branched off from the sewer line, but it felt more like part of a basement of one of the high rises above. Looking at all the pipes running along the ceiling, he figured it probably was.

The demon Fraresaka was waiting for them, obviously as ease in the narrow space. "So this is your employer?"

Lorne opened his mouth to speak, but Angel beat him to it. "Yeah, I'm his boss. You have a problem with that?"

Fraresaka's eyes became slits, as his lips pulled back to reveal large, pointed bicuspids. "Only with humans, friend. Vampires are acceptable, if a bit...flighty."

Against his better judgement, Angel was actually offended. "Hey, pal, my money's as green as the next demon's."

"So it is," the Quathra mused. "You want Mohra demon blood. Why?"

"It's tasty," Angel replied dryly. "And I hear it's less fattening."

The Quathra wasn't amused. He snorted in distaste, then inhaled sharply. His apparent alarm caused Angel to think about nonexistent back-up plans and how well Lorne could handle himself, sans weapons.

"You...vampire. You have a soul! I can smell it on you!"

Bluffing was the only option left. "Are you sure that isn't the pizza delivery guy I had for dinner?"

"So you're Angel. This explains several things, indeed. You...you want to be _human_." The demon spit the word out, as if wanting it out of his mouth as quickly as possible.

Angel sighed, then relented. "Okay, you got me. Happy now?"

"No, far from it. I don't deal with humans, and your soul makes you one of them more than it makes you one of us," the demon looked pointedly at Lorne. "You don't have a soul, so why are you helping him?"

"He's a friend," Lorne smiled hesitantly, and glanced over at Angel. "A friend in a 'sorry I destroyed your bar twice' kind of way, but still a friend. And an employer, of sorts."

"You mean _he's_ the reason I can no longer patronize your establishment?" The demon's anger turned into a cold rage, one that made Angel's limbs twitch in anticipation of a fight.

Lorne cleared his throat nervously. "Well, in a very non-intentional way, I assure you."

"I'll pay double."

At the outburst from Angel, both Lorne and Fraresaka turned to face him. He winced at Lorne's glare of incredulity, but stayed firm. Offering to pay double of something's value was killing him, but in this case, the price would be worth it.

The Quathra showed his fangs in a deadly smile. "Make it triple."

Angel flinched involuntarily. "Deal," he squeaked out, and he heard Lorne sigh in relief.

"I'll go get the paperwork ready," the demon said and headed over to a small chest sitting on the floor behind him.

Angel mouthed the word 'paperwork' as a question to Lorne, but the other demon just shrugged. As a vampire, he'd made several shady deals with the underworld, but none had ever featured the horror of bureaucracy. It make him sigh in regret, to see a powerful regime brought under the thumb of something so innocuous as the filing system.

* * *

The light filtering in from the window played across Buffy's face, much to her annoyance. She'd been lingering in bed, drifting in and out of pleasant dreams that blended last night's reality with ideas for nights to come. With a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes and found herself staring at the muscled back of her lover, silhouetted in the dappled sunlight. She smiled in contentment, his presence reassuring and welcome.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw something else. There were dark spots along the back of his neck, and in matter of seconds she realized they were bruises, turning a mottled purple against the reddened skin from his earlier sunburn.

Her eyes scanned his back, and she found more, ones that looked very much like purple fingers desperately grasping underneath his skin. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Buffy pulled away and got out of bed, horrified at what she was seeing. This was her handiwork. She'd hurt him, even though she hadn't meant to, hadn't even noticed it was happening.

Why hadn't he stopped her? He had to have known, he must've felt the pain. She shook away the thought, knowing it didn't matter. It was her fault, not his. In all the cries and moans from last night, it chilled her to think some of Spike's had been in pain, caused by her own hands.

Her arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, her body reacting to her inner turmoil. As she watched, Spike stirred and woke up, then noticed she wasn't with him in bed. He turned and caught her eyes, his drowsy smile fading as he saw her obvious state.

"Love? What's wrong?"

"I hurt you," she choked out, wishing she could move her legs so she could run, away from the chance of causing him more pain..

His face fell. So, he knew. He'd known last night, and never said a word. "Buffy, it's alright. No harm done. All parts here and accounted for."

She shook her head. It didn't matter. All her attempts at control were for nothing. Last night had been passionate, yes, but she knew she was capable of worse. Maybe she was a freak, after all. A vampire was the only one strong enough to handle her at full strength.

He was growing afraid--she could see it in his eyes. "I swear, Buffy, I'm fine."

"Now you are. But what about the next time? Or the time after that? God, what if I..." she trailed off, unable to give voice to the fear. He seemed to get her train of thought, however, and climbed out of bed to approach her.

She took a step back, but he followed, determined. He grabbed her arms and held her pinned by the force of his gaze. "You will never, ever hurt me like that, pet. You know it."

"I can't...not for sure."

He sighed in frustration, a gesture that she acquainted with the Spike of old. "Look, men and women have been going at it for ages, haven't they? And aren't men typically stronger than women?"

"Yeah, so?" she replied, not fully getting his point.

"So, men have to hold back their strength. If they can do that, average blokes that they are, surely a Slayer can do the same, right?"

Her resolve wavered. He had a point...but it wasn't exactly the same. "Spike, I'm not a 300-pound man and you're not a 110-pound woman. You know what Slayer strength is like."

This didn't faze him. "Have you ever hurt someone unintentionally, using your powers?"

She paused in thought, trying to remember the past few years. "Well, I did hug a doctor much too hard, and Giles a couple times, while training. And I thought I killed Ted, except he turned out to be a robot."

"But not in sex?"

"No!" She was blushing now--she could feel the heat rising from her face. "It wasn't that...intense, with Riley."

For a moment, he smirked in the old way, then his features smoothed out in concern. "I know what you're afraid of. What we had before...it was just sex, like you said. But it's different, now. We love each other."

"What if that's not enough?"

She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them, but it was too late to take it back. The pain that crossed his face was brief, but it was of the kind that left deep internal scars; she knew those all too well. However, he fixed her with a determined and loving gaze, instead of the anger she expected.

"I'm not gonna let you go, Buffy, not over something like this. I know I didn't choose to be human, but now that I am, and now that I have you...it's everything I need."

His words cut through some of the webs being woven in her head. "You--you mean..."

"...that we could have nothing but plain, boring sex until we're eighty, and I'll still love you. Being _with _you, that's what I crave. Not the kinky stuff, although I admit, it's not bad," he remarked with a wry smile. The hands that had been holding her arms now traveled south, along her arm until he reached the curve of her hip. She sucked in a sudden breath, anticipating his next move, but let it out in surprise when she felt his hands grasp hers, coaxing their fingers to entwine.

"These hands are powerful tools, but it's your brain that controls them, Buffy. If you feel like you can't keep your hands under control, then maybe the solution is to take them out of the equation." He pulled her hands up gently, until her arms were over her head, then let go. "That is, if you're game."

Her hands remained in mid-air while his came back to her body, exploring delicate patterns on her skin. She was losing the argument, she knew, but somehow it didn't seem so urgent. "I, uh, yeah...that would work. Definitely."

"Shall we give it a test run, then?"

"Gotta be thorough--might need a couple tries, just to be sure."

His lips touched along her neck, until he came across the edge of her jaw. "Tonight?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of _now_," Buffy replied, not in a mood to be quarreled with. Spike chuckled into her ear, clearly as aroused as she was.

"As you wish, love."

Before he could get much farther, she added, "Now, just because I'm doing this, it doesn't mean that I'm capitulating."

"Never that."

"And I want you to know that I really do take this seriously. I don't ever want to hurt you again, and I don't want you covering it up, okay?" She placed a hand to the side of his face, hoping he could see her concern.

"Cross my heart." He took her hand and kissed the palm, both as a vow and a caress. "Now, shall we continue?"

"Nah, let's just play Parcheesi," she teased, trying not to laugh at his initial confusion. Those urges, however, quickly faded into others once he decided to persuade her to his way of thinking. And she had to concede, he had a talent for being exceptionally persuasive, without needing to say a single word.

* * *

Drusilla's new plaything fed on the first person he'd found that evening--an older man who had found the truck and seen the blood trails on the craggy ground. His curiosity had become his fate, but the creature who wore Mike's face couldn't find anything profound in the sentiment. His sire had made sure to get in on the fun before they headed out, but in truth they hadn't gotten too far.

The sun was close to rising as they made their way to Cranberry Junction, and Drusilla made him stop the truck mainly because she liked the name. He didn't care, as long as they were able to get a meal along with their hideout. No such luck happened when they spotted an abandoned cabin in the distance, but the shelter from the sun was their main concern, anyway.

The minion generally ignored his sire as she cooed over the old stove and kerosene lamps, babbling on about the days when no one had electricity and horses were a necessity. Her rantings took a turn as she stared up at the ceiling, as if she could see straight through the rafters and logs to the ever-brightening sky above.

"Oh, won't it be lovely when we arrive? So much pain and chaos...I can almost taste it," Drusilla crooned, her eyes glittering in dark promise, then she frowned. "But it's almost time to eat, and we haven't arrived. I'll miss the party."

She drifted sadly, bereft at missing the event, but she didn't stay down for long, however. "Fun will be had without me, but it won't do to not come. I'm already dressed, and Miss Edith has been so wanting to see William again. She's very cross that we've lost him."

When she spoke next, her voice was low and had lost the childlike tone, in favor of something that made her appear nearly sane.

"I'm going to get him back. One way or another."

* * *

The entire group assembled at the Magic Box at lunchtime, which caused their discussion to be taken into the back room, away from the patrons on their lunch breaks. Anya was gladly at the front register, and Xander was tempted to join her, once the talk turned to spell-casting and rituals he couldn't grasp. Give him a stake or a weapon and a target, and he was all set...but the vagaries of magic were beyond his areas of expertise.

Buffy and Spike sat together, comfortable in a new and unsettling way. But then, was he really Spike, and if not, then was it still unsettling? It was a question Xander couldn't answer. Wesley was giving off those same vibes he'd once had for Cordelia, back in the day, but now they were pointed right at the slim brunette girl he'd brought with him. Tara noticed him noticing Wesley and Fred, and gave him a tiny, knowing smile. So, she'd caught it, too. She then flicked a glance to Willow, then back at him, and he took the hint and went back to trying to follow the conversation.

"...do you think it'll work?" Willow was saying to Wesley, whose thoughtful frown would put Giles to shame.

"In theory, it should. I must say, structuring a spell to act like a virus will be incredibly complex. Not to mention that we're still not sure if the blood will work as a spell component."

"It'll work," Willow assured him.

For some reason, this didn't make Xander feel better. He decided to speak up, in the interest of playing devil's advocate. "Hey, I know that I'm not a magicky kind of guy, but the idea of viruses tends to make me squeamish...I guess that happens when a Chumash spirit gives you syphilis and smallpox, and a whole bonus pack of diseases. Are you sure about this, Willow?"

"It's going to be fine, Xander. I'm not the one casting the spell, so no worries."

"I'm talking about chaos theory." Everyone gave him blank stares, so he continued, "You know, Jurassic Park? Jeff Goldblum and DNA spiraling out of control?"

"Xander, that was dinosaurs and DNA. This is vampires and magic," Willow replied patiently.

"He has a point," Spike said quietly, which was another odd thing about him. Not just the back-up of opinion, but the general lack of biting sarcasm. Xander found that he appreciated it and missed it at the same time.

When all eyes turned to Spike, he continued. "Viruses are unpredictable, and in the real world, they mutate. Magic is also unpredictable and wonky. What's to stop this from being a giant fiasco?"

Tara calmly replied, "Willow's better at magic than I am. I've looked at this spell, and it's amazing how much detail she's put into it. I don't know if I'll be strong enough to cast it, but I have no problem with how the spell works. And it will." Her confident smile was echoed gratefully by Willow.

"I agree with Tara--I think Willow knows what she's doing," Buffy said softly, yet firmly. "And I want it to work. If it means I won't have to fight another vampire ever again, it can't come soon enough for me."

"What about Angel?" Fred asked, obviously concerned. "He doesn't want to be human, remember?"

Xander thought this would throw a wrench into Willow's plan, but his friend only paused for a second. "We can cast a protection spell on him. It'll be simple enough that you and Wesley could do it, if you wanted."

Wesley nodded in agreement, and it appeared that the matter was settled--noticeably without Anya's opinion. They all knew she hated the plan, and had warned them about the possible consequences. Xander had to admit, now that there was an actual plan, he was having second thoughts. Spike also looked a bit wary, but had stayed silent once Buffy voiced her opinion in favor of the idea. And to be perfectly honest, no one really wanted to tell Buffy that they thought she ought to continue risking her life every night, just on the chance that the spell might not work as planned.

Xander watched as the others created the timetable for the spell. Wesley and Fred would head back to L.A., while Willow and Tara would prepare and gather the ingredients. Buffy, for once, had no role to play aside from fetching their vampire guinea pig--and when the spell was over and done, she wouldn't have to worry about anything besides the occasional demon.

It all sounded great, he thought as he headed back to the front of the store, but maybe it was a little too wonderful. It seemed too easy to be real. He shook his head and smiled ruefully; maybe Anya was rubbing off on him, after all. Still, he had nothing to base his feelings on, aside from a book-turned-blockbuster and unpleasant memories of being sweaty in a not-fun sort of way. And once he saw Anya's enthusiastic smile at his approach, he figured that the risks were worth it, if it could help keep her and the people he loved safe from harm. Everything would be fine, he reassured himself, but it didn't quell the nagging feeling in the back of his brain, despite his best efforts.


	12. Chaos Theory

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. UPDATE Ch. 12 - The end game begins, and a couple of unexpected characters show up in Sunnydale.

A/N: Again, this is later than expected, but I can blame for part of the delay. ;) It looks like it should take only three more chapters to finish, but they'll end up being a little longer than normal...not that I think anyone would mind, would they? Thanks to everyone who's given feedback--you help keep me inspired.

* * *

**Chapter 12 - Chaos Theory**

* * *

Spike walked into the living room later that night to find Dawn with a textbook draped across her lap and her homework half-finished, forgotten in the midst of watching television. She paled when she noticed his questioning look, and hastily grabbed for the remote.

"Don't change the channel on my account," Spike replied with a faint smile.

Dawn stopped, sighed as if making the most vexing decision of her life, then turned the show off anyway. "I know I'm not supposed to watch TV and do homework, but it's a really big episode, and the VCR's broken..."

"I was serious, bit." He sat down next to her, and gestured at the blank screen. "There's only a few minutes left, right? Flip it on and finish the show." She grinned in delight, and quickly switched the TV back on.

"So, what is this?"

"I thought you knew the entire TV schedule by heart. It's CSI." When he blinked, she clarified, "you know, the one about forensic scientists in Las Vegas? They solve crimes by looking at evidence."

"Oh. Right." Suddenly, he didn't feel so comfortable sitting next to Dawn, watching a show about criminal investigations when he was, by human standards, a reformed serial killer. His conscience nagged at him to flee the room, leave town and hide in a cave somewhere, but he shook away the thought. It was silly to think that hiding away would solve anything, especially since Buffy would come after him and kick his ass if he did any such thing.

Once the show ended and the commercials began, Dawn turned off the TV again and started to collect her things, he felt like he needed to talk to her about something, anything. He didn't know what--maybe the weather, or her school work--as long as it reassured her, and himself, that their friendship wasn't dissolving because of his relationship with Buffy.

"How's school going?" Spike could have winced at how trite it sounded, but it was a start.

"It's okay," she offered back, grabbing her finished homework off the table and tucking it into the book.

"You know, if you ever need to talk about something, I'm here."

She shrugged, then said softly. "I know. It's just...with you and Buffy together, things are different. You're her boyfriend now, and I'm the annoying little sister."

"You don't really think that." He said it so matter-of-fact, Dawn stared at him in surprise. "You know your faults, and being annoying isn't one of them. You think you're in the way because of me and Buffy."

"Aren't I?" A uneasy silence followed, one neither of them liked. She closed her eyes in resolve, and continued. "Now, I'm not saying I don't want you guys to have some private time, and I sure don't want to be next door to the...y'know...while it's going on, but I hate feeling like I don't belong in my own house."

"If anyone doesn't belong here, it's me. _I_ should go."

She stood up to face him. "Okay, no. You don't get to be the broody martyr and stomp off for our own good. Don't even go there."

"Not going anywhere, Dawn," he answered with a smile, hoping it would alleviate her fear. But the girl was right--she shouldn't feel put out in her home. "Just...thinking of getting my own place. Within city limits, of course."

"Oh. That means you're going to need money, right? And a job, and references, and all those things Xander needed before he got his apartment?"

Spike didn't like the sound of that--paperwork and bureaucracy always made his skin itch. "Well, that's nothing for you to worry about, Dawn. I'll be handling that, _when_ it happens. And right now, you've got some paperwork of your own to finish, haven't you?"

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled and left, her next sentence floating down from the staircase. "You're getting to be almost as bad as Buffy."

He decided to let that slide as he turned his gaze to the blank TV, since he wasn't sure if it was a compliment, or an insult.

* * *

Getting the Mohra blood ended up being a simple affair. A couple of days after the initial meeting, Angel and Lorne went to an abandoned warehouse in the wee hours before dawn. The Quathra demon was waiting for them, a cardboard box tucked under one arm. Angel could partly make out the shipping label on the package, and his incredulity rose to new heights.

"UPS?"

Fraresaka shrugged. "I'm not as concerned with human businesses as you appear to be. Don't worry, it's packed with those annoying styrofoam cylinders, so it's intact."

With exquisite care, he pulled out the vial...which would have been more dramatic, if he hadn't speared several styrofoam peanuts on the ends of his talons. "See what I mean?"

The blood glowed brightly in the darkness of the warehouse, and Angel had uneasy flashbacks to the last time he'd seen it. The pain of losing Buffy over again wasn't as acute, but it was still a reminder of what he'd sacrificed for the sake of prophesy and destiny. Thankfully, Lorne took it from the demon and handed over the cash--another painful moment Angel didn't care to indulge in.

As soon as Fraresaka verified the amount, he nodded in acceptance and melted into the shadows, leaving them with their eagerly-sought item. With little fanfare, the vampire and demon headed back to the hotel in Angel's car, the normally talkative Lorne staying silent and deep in his own thoughts. Angel left him alone, since he could appreciate a good, deep introspection better than most.

It was only when they reached the door of the hotel that Lorne spoke, his behavior bordering on edgy. "Angel, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"We can talk about it in the office..."

"No, not there. I don't want anyone to overhear this just yet." Lorne wandered to one side of the courtyard, his gaze falling on the fountain and the surrounding foliage. "I got an offer for a job in Las Vegas, and I'm going to accept it."

"What?" Angel was more stunned than disappointed. "Why?"

"I need to get back into the business, but as long as I stay here, you'll always be coming to me for help--and no offense, sweet cheeks, but you're not the most subtle character in town. Why start a new club when you'll just bring friends that'll either tear the place apart, or burn it to the ground? I love L.A., but it doesn't love me anymore."

"But...Las Vegas?" Angel asked, bewildered.

"Hey, it's a wonder I haven't set up shop there, already! True, it might be more touristy nowadays, but the nightlife is still to die for. There's a place that's set up not far from the Golden Nugget, in the old section of town. It's not on the Strip, per se, but considering the tourist factor, that's probably for the best."

"When are you leaving?"

"Soon. As in, I'll drop off the blood in Sunnydale, on my way to Vegas."

"But they're doing the spell tonight," Angel frowned, then noticed the sky lightening in the distance. "Are you sure about this?"

"I got the offer a couple days ago. I know it's sudden for you, but I've been thinking this over for some time. I'll be honest and say it's a little selfish, but hey, I'm not a champion, now am I?"

At this, Angel smiled and clapped the other demon's back. As they went indoors, Angel replied, "No, you're the lucky one."

* * *

All of the gang gathered in the Magic Box shortly after Anya made sure the 'closed' sign faced out into the street. The necessary ingredients for the spell were assembled on the table, except for the Mohra blood. Angel had promised that someone would come up from L.A. to deliver it, and the natural choice was Cordelia, since Wesley and Fred needed to stay and cast the protection spell on Angel, and she would probably want to see Sunnydale. To their surprise, the visitor couldn't have been more different.

It was just past twilight when he came into the Magic Box, baseball cap pulled low and hopelessly trying to appear non-descript in a pale teal suit and yellow shirt. At the stares from the assembled group, he smiled cordially and said, "Wow, is this town in denial or what? No one even looked at me twice. You expect it in L.A., but here, in the bosom of white bread suburbia?"

"You're, um, the person Angel sent?" Tara asked.

Willow added, "I think I remember you. Your name's Lorne, isn't it?

"In the chartreuse flesh, dumplin'! And I come bearing a gift--a very pricey gift, I might add, and don't think I didn't hear all about it before I left."

He reached into his coat and pulled out the clear vial, the Mohra blood growing bright green. Willow took it from him and nodded distantly in approval. "This is the stuff. Now all we need is a not-so-willing test subject."

"And that's my department," Buffy chimed in, looking eager for some action.

"What kind of demon are you?" Anya asked as her eyes took him in, her brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't recognize your kind at all."

He didn't take any offense, merely laughing it off. "Oh, I'm not from this dimension, honey. You could say I've got a permanent visa. My people can read auras, although I prefer to do it when people sing. It's more fun that way."

"You should've been here a few weeks ago," Spike said, leaning against the bookcase. "It was like a city-wide tribute to Rogers and Hammerstein, with some Bob Fosse thrown in."

"Ooh, sounds like heaven--or, that some nitwit summoned Sweet and didn't realize...oh." He stopped and turned to face Xander.

"I swear I didn't know, honest!"

Lorne shook his head ruefully, his eyes seeing something beyond the surface. "That and three dollars will buy you a mocha latte. And if I were you, I'd plan on sticking around for the whole thing, friend. You never know when vengeance will come into season."

"What?" Xander replied, completely baffled.

"And you, Red...you're on the right path. Don't leave it," Lorne said, his face and tone serious. "You're all good kids. I'd hate to see you end up...well, let's say it's not gonna happen. Not here, anyway."

Tara seemed to understand the gravity of what he was saying, if not the entire context. "Are-are you going to be staying for awhile?"

"No, I've got a prior appointment. Plus, I'm feeling like Sunnydale isn't a good place to be in the near future."

"Why's that?" Buffy asked, clearly alarmed.

He shook his head, his hand already on the doorknob. "Don't know. It's all fuzzy, but it's a bad kind of feeling, if you know what I mean. It's telling me that I'd better not stick around. Anyway, I've got to see a demon about a lounge gig in Vegas. Toodles!" And with that, Lorne ducked out of the shop.

"Wait a minute--Vegas? I thought he was heading back to L.A.?" Willow said, turning to see the mixed reactions at Lorne's departure. Xander was still trying to puzzle through the demon's words, Anya was looking almost smug, and Buffy and Spike were tense in that way they always were, right before a fight. Tara was the most worried, especially since she was the one who was going to cast the spell.

"Guys, it can't be the spell. It's totally fool-proof!"

"Willow, you know I want this as much as anyone, but maybe we shouldn't?" Buffy replied, now showing signs of back-pedaling. Anya was obviously trying not to say 'I told you so', although it was showing on her face and in her body language.

"No, we have to. We can't back down now. Think about the lives it'll save. Think about the people whose loved ones had to bury them, not knowing that they'd crawl out of their grave and hunt down others. Think about all of friends and classmates who ended up dying or being turned. Jesse, Miss Calendar, Larry--" A knock on the door caused her to stop, and share a confused look with everyone.

"Store's closed! Come back tomorrow with your money!" Anya yelled out, which made Xander wince.

"God, I _know_ that. I'm not dumb," a muffled young woman's voice replied. In stunned shock, everyone but Tara froze in place. "I figured out what's going on, y'know, even though it was supposed to be all hush-hush. You guys are _so_ transparent."

Buffy stomped up to the door and flung it wide, revealing the girl they'd once known as Harmony. With a look of disdain and contempt, Buffy grabbed Harmony by her skimpy shirt front and dragged her into the shop, closing the door behind them.

"Harmony, you couldn't find your way out of a wet paper sack," Spike sighed, shaking his head in something akin to amusement. "You followed Lorne, didn't you?"

She shuffled uncomfortably. "Okay, yeah. I heard about Angel buying the Mohra demon blood, and when I went to his office to ask about it, I overheard them talking about a spell and Sunnydale."

"I get that," Buffy said angrily. "What I _don't_ get, is why you're here."

"Isn't it obvious?" Harmony replied loftily, until her shoulders sagged and she said in a small voice, "I don't want to be a vampire anymore. It sucks!"

Xander snickered, and the blonde vampire glared at him. "I don't want to be evil anymore, okay? I thought it was cool at first, but I haven't seen my reflection in two years, the choice of vampire lairs around here are gross, and do you know how hard it is to apply eye-liner without a mirror?" Spike started to say something, but then thought better of it.

"I want to be human again. Please, I'm begging you, change me back!" She said in her best, desperate voice. One could imagine it being used on a father holding her allowance money at bay.

Tara said softly, "Well, we do need a guinea pig."

Harmony's eyes lit up, and Buffy pouted in dismay. "But I was kinda looking forward to some fighty action..."

Suddenly, Harmony stared at Spike as if seeing him for the first time, then blurted out, "Hey, when did Spike become human?"

Spike went from amused to alarmed, as the others began to understand what this meant. Buffy sighed in defeat, knowing that the only other option now was to dust the hapless vampire.

"Guess we're going to have to do it, after all. Harmony, you're our first test subject."

"Yay!" Harmony clapped her hands in joy, while the others managed to keep from rolling their eyes. "When do we start?"

* * *

In light of what they were doing, Spike thought a full moon ought to be showing, or at least some nice, ominous clouds on the horizon. Instead, there was almost a peace that transcended the general mood, something that nearly made him believe it would work out in the end, after all.

But, he wasn't quite so foolish to fall for the tranquil lull. The flashy demon's words echoed in his head, and for once he found himself sharing Xander's earlier concern. Not that he hadn't been concerned before, but if a demon with precognitive abilities decided to skedaddle, his usual instinct was to do likewise.

A glance at Buffy's face cured him of most of his doubt. He realized that while it was for the good of everyone, he was more focused on how it would improve Buffy's life--and the chances of seeing a legacy left behind, either by children or by deeds. He worried that her fears about hurting him were still haunting her; they hadn't made love since that night, although he had to admit with Dawn in the house, it wasn't feasible. Still, it bothered him to think she was agonizing over what had happened.

They were almost to the cemetery by now, and Spike couldn't help the nervousness he felt. He hadn't been back since his change into a human, and the idea of going into a place where he'd nearly died didn't sit well with him, naturally. The only reason he was human was due to being careless, and having Buffy there to call for medical help. He couldn't imagine what would've happened if he'd only called out to Buffy sooner, possibly leaving him unscathed and a member of the undead. Would Buffy have rejected him by now? Or would they still be meeting secretly, carrying on an affair behind her friends' backs?

Buffy held onto his hand as they entered the cemetery, her face tense with memory. She wasn't the only one having flashbacks, then, he realized. In a way, it was comforting. He didn't feel alone, as he normally did.

When they reached the approximate center of the graveyard, everyone came to a halt. Willow and Tara started to prepare the site--Willow wouldn't have needed a circle, had she been casting the spell, but Tara did. Harmony fussed and whined in boredom, and Spike felt the old urge to stake her, just to put her out of _his_ misery. Instead of acting on it, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, something that was supposed to help with anger.

It didn't work. He was about to focus his thoughts elsewhere, when an idea formed, one that filled him with dread. In a light-hearted voice that surprised even him, he turned to the blonde vampire and asked, "Harm, how did you hear about Angel and the Mohra blood?"

"Oh, some vampire guy told me."

He rolled his eyes in belabored patience. "And, how did _he_ know about it?"

"I think he said his friends heard it in some bar. Jeez, what's with the third degree?"

"Well, it just occurred to me that if _you_ could follow Lorne here, then who might else be...oh, bollocks."

His eyes caught shadows moving in the periphery, and Buffy was already in battle alert mode, her stance defensive. Xander gaped around in confusion, while Anya quickly moved behind him. Spike stood there in shock, his mind reliving his last moments as a vampire.

"Everyone around Tara!" Buffy yelled, and the group fell into a loose circle around the woman. Even Harmony filled up a spot, although she looked as befuddled as ever. "Tara, start the spell!"

"Wait...I'm almost ready..." her voice came from below, and Spike imagined her bent over in an attempt to finish the runes on the ground.

"What's going on?" Xander asked, peering futilely into the darkness.

"Vampires," Spike breathed out, trying to push away the fear. He might be no stronger than the boy, but he had years of fighting prowess on his side. He hoped it would be enough. "And I don't think they're here to join in the fun."

The shadows were now blobs of color, and soon faces could be made out in the darkness. Spike couldn't count how many there were, so he spared a glance to Buffy.

As if reading his mind, she replied, "Looks like twenty, at least. If Harmony could fight and you were still vamped...maybe. Otherwise, I think fleeing is a perfectly acceptable alternative."

"How? We're surrounded, in case you hadn't noticed."

Just then, Tara began to chant--not a protection spell, as he'd hoped, but the one Willow had created. It made some of the vampires pause, fearful of what it meant, but then the older ones moved forward, the younger ones following suit.

She wasn't going to finish the spell in time, Spike noted as the vampires closed in fast. And then, fists were flying and Spike found himself dodging blows. On instinct, he twisted his body to avoid a meaty fist, then grabbed the arm and used the vampire's inertia to make the punch into a throw. In the seconds afterward, he turned and blocked another blow, then used the opportunity to bring his heel down hard on the other vampire's knee, feeling it shatter. He grinned at the sense of power returning, although it quickly deflated once he saw the vampire rise slowly to its feet.

Buffy was punching, dodging and weaving, trying not to dust the vamps she fought. It was a deadly tactic, but he understood why. If Tara could finish the spell, then all this fighting would end in a matter of seconds.

As in answer, bright, green light came from the wiccan's direction, and Spike turned to see her hands outstretched, glowing with unreleased energy. The vampires hesitated, unsure what was happening. Tara's voice rose until the last word echoed with power, and then green light shot forth from her hands, heading straight for the vampires surrounding them, including Harmony.

Some of them screamed, though it was likely more in fear than in pain. After a few seconds, the light faded and they slumped to the ground, all of them bewildered as to what had happened. Harmony clutched at the grass and panted heavily, her eyes closed and looking like she was about to throw up.

"Oh god..." she groaned, and then she did just that.

In all the excitement, almost no one noticed Tara swaying on her feet, her strength sapped completely. Willow cried out as she started to fall, and then Xander and Spike were there, reaching her before she hit the ground.

Spike backed off as Willow leaned over and tried to rouse the wiccan, to no avail. Unsure where to look first, his gaze fell on Buffy, trying to help one of the former vampires--the one whose kneecap he'd busted. He grimaced in self-reproach and leaned over to another man, holding his hand out in support. The man took it, and Spike hauled him up, appraising the spell's handiwork. The hand was warm, the pallor was fading, and he could see the beginnings of tortured existence creeping up on the man's face.

"Can you walk?" Spike asked gently, and the man nodded. By now, the others were starting to comprehend their fate. A younger man wept openly, while a grizzled, tattooed man shook his head and wandered off. Spike wanted to go after him, but the remaining people were too many to leave for the group. He could only hope that the fellow found his way home.

Xander scooped up Tara in his arms, while Spike, Buffy, Anya and Willow herded the former vampires towards the cemetery gate. One of the two women stared blankly ahead, as the second one clung to Anya for guidance. All these people were still in a state of shock, and Spike couldn't blame them. He didn't envy what their dreams would be like, or what the future held in store for them.

* * *

The grizzled man--Harry, he knew his name was Harry--meandered through the alleyways of Sunnydale, not knowing the area. He could remember so much, and yet so little. The memories of busting the door to the electronics store was clear enough, then there were demonic faces and pain...and then, darkness. When he arose--and that seemed to him the best word to use--it was on a cold gurney in the Los Angeles city morgue, his face covered with a sheet. The doctor on duty hadn't even seen him coming.

The power that had rippled under his skin was gone. He flexed his fingers, not sure how he felt about that. When he tried to push a Dumpster away from a back door and failed, he decided he didn't like it one bit. Harry also didn't like the way he felt, the shame and guilt. Shoving it aside, he focused on finding something to eat. His mind first substituted 'someone', however, and it filled him with an unnatural melancholy--not because of his former state, but for his returned humanity.

Now his anger flared, realizing what that blonde witch had done to him--to _all_ of his former group. They'd come to stop the Slayer's friends from succeeding, and had ended up becoming their first victims. The remorse crawled up into his ribs, and he swallowed it down once again. He didn't want to feel this way. He wanted the guilt to be gone, like it was before.

His eyes brightened when he heard the sound of someone approaching. Logically, he should have ran for his life, since he knew that nobody human would be walking the alleys of Sunnydale at night. Instead, he waited until the vampire appeared, already in game face.

"What, no running away? Or are you that stupid?" The vampire grinned, straightening out his threadbare denim jacket.

"You gotta turn me back, man," Harry said in earnest, his hands shaking visibly. "I can't live like this."

The vampire looked at him in puzzlement, then said, "Sorry, I don't turn guys. Only the ladies, and that's if they're really hot. Guess you'll just have to be my meal."

"No! No, I have info--I, I know something about the Slayer, what she's up to--" He didn't get to finish, because the vampire lunged at him and bit into his throat, his newly-restored lifeblood rushing into the vampire's mouth. He struggled and tried to fight him off, but the vampire was too strong.

Harry tried to yell for help, but only weak protests came out of his mouth. And then, a feeling he remembered all too well came over him, and he closed his eyes in defeat. At least the darkness would keep the horrible guilt and remorse at bay.

The vampire dropped Harry's lifeless body to the ground, and wiped a drop of blood off his chin. "I can't believe he tried to snow me," he chuckled, then suddenly felt ill. With a curse, he clutched at his stomach in pain, then was dumbfounded when a bright green light enveloped him. He fell to the ground, trembling and sick, and vomited up the blood he'd just consumed. Then in horror, he heard the sound of his heart beating once again, and felt the need of breathing air into his lungs.

"Oh no, no no nonono..." He said desperately, and stared at the body on the ground. "What the hell did you do to me?"

He grabbed his head in his hands, then realized he needed to leave, _now_. He got up and ran unsteadily, his legs weak and unwilling to cooperate. The alleys were familiar to him, and he turned down one corner he knew would take him into the main street, where the lights would help keep him safe.

An arm flew out in front of him, and he quickly found himself pinned against the alley wall. He followed the green, scaly arm until he reached the demon's face, a horned monstrosity that would've once made him laugh, but now made him shake in fear.

"Have you any last requests before I kill you?"

"No, no...please! I'm a vampire, a-a demon like you!

The demon sniffed at him, then sneered. "You reek of human stench. You have a soul. Call me unpersuaded."

"Wait, there's something that happened to me. I think it's some kind of vampire plague--it turned me human..."

With a snap, the demon broke his neck. "I'll keep that in mind."

As the demon walked away, he didn't see the green glow around the vampire's body, or how it left the dead body and followed after the demon. The green light caught up to the demon and coiled around its body, then absorbed itself into its scaly skin, much to the demon's alarm. It shrieked as the pain became unbearable, the scales on its arm expanding and shifting. In seconds, the demon's body had mutated horribly, altered beyond recognition. It stumbled forward, hoping to find help, but the strain was too much for its twisted legs, crumpling under its own weight. Blue ichor trickled out of its mouth as it gasped for air, but in moments the breathing stopped, the lifeless, mangled body stilled. The green glow seeped out of the demon's corpse and headed back down the alley, looking brighter and more vibrant than before.


	13. Penitence

Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. UPDATE Ch. 13 - The spell creates a dilemma the gang didn't foresee, and a visitor comes to inform them about another pesky side effect that threatens to upset the Balance.

A/N: After watching a show about freighters and how cargo is shipped overseas nowadays, I realized that my previous Dru scenes were very wrong and needed to be completely rewritten. It's not necessary for this chapter, but the rewritten scenes will have her coming from Alaska, not overseas. Why Alaska? Well...why not? :)

* * *

**Chapter 13 - Penitence**

* * *

"...'ere the end of my plea, may this vampire be covered by thee." Wesley threw the powdered bone over Angel's head, and a cool blue light flickered through the dust, briefly forming a shield of energy before the powder hit the floor.

"So, did it work?" Cordy asked, squinting through the hazy air around Angel.

"The spell was successful," Wesley smiled in triumph and glanced Fred's way, hoping she noticed. She gave him an excited grin in return, and he felt his own grin grow wider. "The light you saw was the spell initiating."

Cordelia nodded, taking his word for it. Angel shook off the remaining bone dust with a concerned frown. "So, now all we have to do is wait? It's that simple?"

"One would hope," Wesley answered as he put the rest of the spell components away. "In time, the other spell will run its course and all current vampires will be human again."

"I wonder what that'll mean to our bottom line..." Cordelia mused out loud, which got her a wary look from Angel. "Hey, this _is_ a business, y'know. And taking away potential clientele isn't going to pay for Connor's college tuition, is it? Or pay our salaries, either," she added gloomily.

"Look on the bright side," Fred spoke up, brimming with near-eternal optimism. "There's bound to be a lot of vampires turning human in L.A., and they're going to need help in readjusting. We could help them out."

"Right, 'cause that worked _so_ well with Darla," Gunn quipped from his perch on the stairs. "I think we're heading into some serious nastiness, here. Not to say it isn't the right thing, but all those people--they're gonna be messed up. If they still have families, that's great, but if not? What then?"

"I'm having the feeling that Gunn could be on to something," Cordelia replied, her voice betraying her sudden trepidation. "It's not like there's such a thing as former vampire welfare."

"We'll deal," Angel answered quietly, "as I'm sure they will. I know from experience that it's not easy, but it isn't impossible."

* * *

Unprepared for so many at once, the gang tried to help the people as best they could as they were herded into the Summers' home. Those who'd been turned more recently were the strongest, both physically and emotionally, and were able to help with the others. One woman still stared blankly at nothing and everything, and Buffy mentally planned for the woman to be taken to the hospital.

Spike was talking to one man who was bent over, sobbing, on her couch. From what she could gather, the man had killed his wife and children two years ago, and was mumbling about he wanted to join them. Spike glanced up at her as she passed by, their shared gaze filled with pained sorrow and the beginnings of doubt.

In the corner was Buffy's ultimate concern. Harmony was huddled in the corner, looking more dead than she'd been as a vampire. Her knees were drawn up defensively, but Buffy came over to her regardless, hoping that her former classmate wasn't slipping away.

"Do you think you can eat something? Maybe you'll feel better."

Harmony gave her a look of disbelief, her eyes red from crying. "I was evil, Buffy. I killed people. Why should I try to feel better?"

Buffy gave her a stern look, hoping it could pull the girl back together by sheer force of will. "Because you wanted this. You were a vampire, yes, and you did evil things, but you didn't want to be evil anymore, remember? I can't imagine any vampire doing what you did. And look at Spike--he was a vampire for 120 years, and he's adjusting. If _he_ can do it, I know you can, too."

"You're not just saying that, are you?"

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't think it was true. I know it's hard to picture it, but you'll survive. Your parents...do they know what happened to you?"

"Not the vampire part," Harmony tried to wipe away tears, but only managed to smear her mascara. "They, oh God, they buried me in my favorite dress. How am I going to explain all this to them?"

Buffy rubbed the girl's arm soothingly as she started to weep again. "I wish I knew."

* * *

After a couple hours, fourteen people out of the twenty-one left the house to return to their families. Some thanked the group, and some left without saying much of anything. One person shook his head sadly at the remaining few before he left, those who were still unable to cope, and said, "I hope you know what you're trying to accomplish, 'cause I sure don't."

Spike wasn't sure anymore, either. The man he'd tried to comfort earlier was still inconsolable. There was a good chance that the ones left behind would never be able to adjust, and it made him oddly grateful for how well he'd done, thus far. He felt the guilt, but it was more of a peripheral shadow that occasionally caught his eye. Maybe his memories were faded by time and distance. Or maybe he was just better at bouncing back. He tended to believe the latter, since his dark moods had never lasted for very long, even as a vampire.

Willow had taken a couple of people to the hospital, the one whom Spike had wounded and another who was still staring blankly at everything around her. The rest had fall asleep in the meantime, taking up two of the bedrooms and the couch. Tara was in her old bedroom, still unconscious. Xander and Dawn were by her side now, which left Buffy and Spike on the back porch, staring into the darkness.

He'd thought being human would help make everything clearer, but he should've remembered that it hadn't worked that way before. No reason things would change, thanks to getting a second try. He glanced over to Buffy, and noticed her hands folded over her knees, appearing more sedate than he knew she was.

"We really know how to bugger something up, don't we?"

She exhaled in one long breath, shaking her head. "We do. Not that there aren't positives to this, but...I had no idea how hard this would be. And that one guy who took off--he's probably spreading it through Sunnydale by now, beginning the cycle. What'll happen to the people, like the ones we helped tonight?"

"They'll cope--eventually," Spike said, trying to be a voice of hope in the midst of her dour outlook. "That, or perish. Which is what happened when they were bitten and turned, so it's all a matter of perspective."

"Yeah, but we can't help all of Sunnydale. And if the people are going to be like the ones we had tonight, they'll be easy pickings for the demon population. We end up saving them from being vampires, only to make them demon chow."

"Well, not all demons attack humans," Spike found himself saying. "In fact, I know a few blokes that even you'd get along with."

"Gee, thanks. Not like I'd want to hang out with demons, anyway."

He sat back, feeling a sense of trepidation as her comment brought out something that had been on his mind. "Buffy, you said back when I was first human that you wanted to find out if you could love me. But there's something you never explained. _Why_ do you love me?"

This took her off-guard, and she pulled back visibly as she tried to sort out the question. "Well, I...I love you. Because...I just do. Why are you asking me this?"

Spike sighed and hung his head. "Because of the way my past is treated like it's a bad dream. I'm not saying I want to brood over it, 'cause I don't--but I never expected to see you treat it so casually."

"Casually? Since when?"

"Since the moment I became human, actually. When you helped me out of the hospital, it was like being given a clean slate, free of charge."

"Well, yeah," Buffy looked at him as if she wasn't sure whether he was joking. "You're human now."

"And that makes it okay? I kill a few thousand people, but hey, I'm human so it's fine and dandy?"

He could've kicked himself when he saw the stricken look in her eyes. "I never said that. Don't think that it doesn't pop out at me sometimes--hey, my boyfriend is former demon who killed enough people to fill a suburb. But, you were a vampire then, and you were evil. It's what you did. Now, you're not. You're human, which means you can be good."

"So as long as I'm human, it changes things. I should have figured--Anya got the same treatment. As long as she wasn't a demon, Xander didn't care about who she'd been or what she'd done. Love can blind you that way," Spike replied, knowing it as well as anyone.

She frowned at him, the look a dangerous one he was all too familiar with. "Hey, I'm not putting any blinders on here. This has been far from easy for me, you know. When this all began, it was scary to wonder if I was attracted to a demon, if maybe there was something inside me, drawing me into the darkness. Being a Slayer means something that the Watchers' Council can't even begin to understand. You have to walk in darkness, while trying to keep yourself from becoming part of it.

"So if you want to know why I love you...it's not just because you're human. You understand me on a level that no one else does. You've always cut through the crap and gotten to the heart of the matter, even when I didn't want to hear it. You took care of my sister while I was gone, and you didn't expect me to immediately get over being dead for five months. And yeah, there's also the fact that you're pretty easy on the eyes, but you know that already. What I'm trying to say is, I fell in love with the whole package, dark ugly past included."

"Really?" He smiled, genuinely affected by her words. "Imagine that. I think I've got it now."

"I hope so, because I don't want you to think that you're some kind of consolation prize. That's what this is about, right?"

Surprised that she had nailed it so close, he chuckled nervously, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I look at what we have, and I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall. Or when you're going to come to your senses and take off."

"I have no plans on leaving anyone or anything. I'm here, present and accounted for. Granted, I'm still adjusting to _being_ here, but that's my issue, not yours."

"It's my issue if it concerns you," he countered, and took her hand in his. "Don't ever think you can't share with me, pet. There's nothing you can say that will surprise me."

"How about, I'm having Xander's baby?"

"That's not as funny as you think it is," he replied, deadpan. "I'd wager it's time to find out if our resident wiccan is up and about. Let's go have a look-see."

After several minutes of talking with Dawn and watching Tara fail to wake up, it was becoming obvious that the situation was getting dire. None of them had a clue how long Willow might be gone, and the idea of going after her was tempting. But with Spike technically a hospital refugee, and Buffy his accomplice, they risked complicating matters by returning to the scene of the crime.

Spike had been almost ready to suggest calling Xander, when Willow came through the door. Disheveled and weary, she took the news of Tara's continued unconsciousness with more than a little panic and concern.

"She should be awake by now, shouldn't she? I mean, it was a big thing with so many at once, but it's been hours. Oh God--what if was my spell? What if I screwed it up?"

"Screwed it up _how_, Willow?" Buffy frowned, not liking the turn of this conversation at all. "You mean the spell is wrong?"

"In theory, no. However, when I planned it out, I was primarily trying to make sure the spell would work. The main part of the energy was coming from the demon blood." Suddenly, Willow's face fell. "But when Tara cast it on all those vampires at once, there wasn't enough energy for all of them."

"So it took the energy it needed from the most convenient source," Spike chimed in, getting it as well. "Tara."

"If it's just an energy drain, she should be okay," Willow said, sounding more like she was trying to reassure herself of the fact. "The spell's working, right? So, it's all going according to plan. And hey, pretty soon, no more vampires. Too bad there wasn't an easy way to get rid of all the demons, too."

A knock on the door interrupted before either Buffy or Spike could respond. All three of them stared at each other in confusion, before Buffy went to the door and opened it.

In the doorway was an enormously tall demon, grey-skinned with oddly shaped plates of armor and appearing, for all intents and purposes, to be someone to be avoided at all costs. They all took a step back defensively, waiting for the demon's next move.

"Hi, is this the Summers residence?" he asked politely.

"Um, yes," Buffy answered, still waiting for the attack.

"And you're the Slayer, right?"

"Yeah--er, I mean, who wants to know?"

"Oh, sorry about that! I'm Skip," he held out a hand, and Spike wondered idly where all the rip-their-heads-off-and-ask-questions-later demons of his youth had gone. "I went next door by mistake, and I can't begin to tell you how embarrassing that was. May I come in?"

Flummoxed by the politeness, Buffy almost asked him in until she caught the gleam of his armor. "Why don't you tell me the reason you're here, first. If it's to kill me, I'd rather take this outside."

"No, nothing like that." His eyes scanned the surroundings, narrowing when they fell on Willow. "Oh, so _you're_ the one."

"What, me?" Willow said, looking for all the world like a five-year-old caught with her mother's make-up bag.

"You think the Powers wouldn't know? Your spell is altering the Balance, turning the status quo into chaos. Do you guys even _know_ how much trouble you've caused?"

Buffy yanked the demon into the foyer, annoyance and panic showing on her face. Spike had the sense to step clear of them both. "Wait a minute. The Powers sent _you_? Something that looks more like a reject from 'Starlight Express'?"

Skip rolled his eyes, then looked at Spike. "Did she give you this much grief when you were a vampire?"

"And then some," Spike said in a moment of solidarity, before Buffy's gaze of doom fell on him. "But, y'know, that was different. I was evil."

"Uh huh," Skip replied, nonplused. "But anyway, back to the problem at hand. Which is the imminent destruction of the fabric of reality, or as I like to call it, the Big Nighty-Night."

His fingers marked quotes in the air, which Spike knew could only increase Buffy's ire. He wasn't proven wrong. "So, the world is going to end. Am I supposed to be impressed? 'Cause I've got to tell ya, I don't fear apocalypses. Apocalypses fear _me_."

"I'm getting that vibe. But this isn't the job for the Slayer. If the spell can't be stopped, I'll be forced to do something I'd really rather not do, in order to stop the spell from being cast. So tell me," Skip turned to Willow, "can it be undone?"

"Tara would have to do it, but she's still unconscious," Willow replied, wringing her hands with worry. "We've tried waking her up."

"Let me give it a try," Skip answered, then looked to Buffy for permission to go upstairs. She nodded, and he climbed up the stairs, his weight making the steps creak ominously.

Dawn jumped when the demon came through the door, her eyes wide with panic. However, Buffy was right behind Skip, already calming her sister's nerves. Spike watched as the grey demon leaned over the unconscious girl, making thoughtful noises and examining Tara's state.

"Yep, she's out cold. A little minor astral scarring, but it's nothing big. Not like yours," he threw off-handedly to Buffy. "I can fix this in a jiff."

"Tara has scarring? What from, the spell?" Willow asked.

Skip shook his head. "Not exactly. Casting it on so many vampires at once was like...frying your CPU by overclocking." Willow nodded in understanding, but the others gave him a blank look. "In other words, her body tapped out from all the energy she was using."

Willow folded her arms, her shoulders hunched miserably. "It wasn't supposed to be used that way. We were only going to cast it on one vampire. Then the vampire horde showed up, and that plan got shot to hell."

"Which is standard operating procedure for us," Buffy interjected. "You'd think we'd learn by now."

Skip shrugged, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Then he placed one hand on Tara's forehead, his face frozen in concentration. After a few seconds, he pulled away with some effort, clearly taxed.

"Phew, all done. She should be waking up any minute now, but she'll be weak as a kitten. Canceling the spell won't be difficult, will it?"

"No, it shouldn't take as much strength to undo. If she needs power, she can have mine."

Spike looked at Willow in concern, knowing it wasn't that simple. "I don't think that's a good idea. You'd have to access it in order for a transfer to work, and in your condition, you don't want to tempt fate."

The girl sagged in defeat, watching her former lover helplessly. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

Skip, seated in one of the bedroom's chairs, replied, "Do you know anything about operating systems? I'm having trouble with my laptop at home; it won't let me access my Excel spreadsheets."

Willow's face scrunched in concentration. "Have you tried checking the associations?"

"Yeah, they're fine. I'm thinking maybe the program's corrupted..."

Spike rolled his eyes and looked over to Buffy and Dawn, silently signaling them out of the room. In moments, Willow and Skip were left talking shop, as everyone waited for Tara to wake up.

* * *

It was the strangest thing Detective Fred Dunlop had seen in his ten years on the force in Sunnydale, and he had seen a lot of weird things. People were filing into the police station, most of them looking shell-shocked and stricken with grief. Several grabbed passing policemen and begged to be put in jail to pay for what they'd done. They all claimed to be murderers, but said they hadn't exactly been themselves when they'd done it. One of his fellow officers thought they were all on PCP or some other street drug, but Fred shook his head in denial. He didn't know for sure what was going on, but he was afraid of what the true answer would turn out to be.

He called the hospital to have someone pick up the newcomers, but the psychiatric ward was reported to be full and over-flowing. If someone walked in off the street, the staff was forced to take them in, but they wouldn't accept anyone brought in from somewhere else.

Fred sighed and decided to at least take down everyone's name, in the hope that he could try to find their relatives and have them come pick them up. One by one, those who could communicate with the police gave their names, and when Fred looked over the list, he felt his blood run cold.

He knew some of these names. They were people who'd either been found dead, or declared missing, over the past several years. A few turned out to be main suspects in the murders of their families. In each case, the deaths had been by exsanguination.

Other reports began to come in; bodies were being found in alleyways, human and...otherwise. The morgue didn't know what to do with the odd corpses, and planned on informing the government. He knew what would happen then--the feds would swoop in, claim jurisdiction, and take the abnormal bodies away. Why the FBI didn't have a branch set up here by now, Fred couldn't say. The previous Mayor had made sure that these situations were taken care of without the government's interference, but the current Mayor didn't feel the same, preferring to let them take care of matters.

Once the calls went out to the family members, he found the number of people milling about start to decrease. Those who came to pick someone up were equally confused and overjoyed to see them. Most had never found what had happened to their loved one, but more than a few had buried their sons, daughters, fathers and wives. The confusion grew when the person tried to explain what had happened to them.

Those left remaining were either too far gone to reach with conversation, or were put into lock-up since there were warrants pending for their arrest. With no other choice, the police allowed the distraught ones to sleep in vacant jail cells, leaving the doors open to make sure they weren't traumatized any further.

No, Fred could safely say he'd never seen anything like this before. When he got home, he hugged his wife tightly, then made sure there were crosses in the windows. Just in case his crazy notions were right, after all.

* * *

It was a relief to see Tara awake, even if she looked like she could sleep for a week with no trouble. She had been out for over four hours, and Buffy worried what had happened to the town in the meantime.

Half an hour later, Tara was strong enough to attempt the canceling of the spell. She was remorseful over casting the spell in the first place, and worried that she wouldn't be able to dispel it. Skip reassured her by telling her that was why he was there--although he remarked that what he would be forced to do wasn't exactly easy, then explained what he meant.

"You'd have to turn back time?" Willow goggled at Skip.

"Just a few hours, thankfully. The Powers absolutely hate to do it, since once you start doing it for a few people, everybody will be hounding after you for some little thing or another. And there's no fun in constantly going backwards."

There wasn't really anything the group could say to that. With an urgency more panicked than controlled, they laid out the circle in Buffy's backyard, hoping there wouldn't be any nosy neighbors. Spike was pretty sure that the ones who'd gotten an eyeful of Skip wouldn't be a bother tonight.

Tara shook shakily in the circle, Willow nearby to catch her if need be. She closed her eyes and began, her voice sounding out with a deceiving strength. "Spirits, I invoke thee--let the spell where life was lended, now and forevermore be ended."

The wind whipped around her with a faint glow, then dissipated into the night air. Skip nodded in approval, his eyes seeing something the others couldn't. "I think you caught it just in time--it was almost ready to head off to the next town."

Buffy turned what he'd said over in her mind, then it finally sank in. "Wait, are you saying...all the demons are dead?"

"Not all. There are a few less violent ones in the outer areas, but the vampires are all gone. All five hundred and twenty-seven of them."

"Five hundred...?" She'd guessed there were maybe a hundred at most, but five times that amount? "And all those people are walking the streets, not even knowing what's happened to them."

"Well, not exactly. It's less than that, thanks to the demons. Which is why the demons ended up dead--once they came in contact with one of the former vampires, the spell recognized them as a demon and tried to alter said demon. Ergo, dead demons littering the streets."

Skip sounded jovial enough, but Buffy could see the anger in his eyes. Swallowing down her growing sense of unease, Buffy replied, "It's kind of ironic when you think about it. People think monsters aren't real, and yet, by trying to destroy them we nearly destroyed reality."

"Exactamundo," Skip said, some of the cheerfulness returning to his eyes. "The Balance has its own protectors; for example, you and me. I come along to put out fires and get people to where they need to be, and you...well, kill demons and stop apocalypses. You'd think it was the other way around to look at us, but that's their wacky sense of humor for you. By the way, the Powers like the job you're doing, and said to keep up the good work." He slugged her on the shoulder, and Buffy was grateful for the Slayer strength just then--if she'd been normal, the blow might have broken her arm.

"Well, I've got a bar mitzvah to get to, so I'll be heading off. If I could request one thing--don't do any more spells, or else I might have to come back. And as much as I like you guys, I _really_ don't want to come back here ever again. The Hellmouth makes my skin break out."

He vanished in a sudden burst of smoke, leaving them bewildered, confused, and partly relieved. Aside from Tara's weakened state, they'd escaped unscathed. There were untold numbers of people in Sunnydale who had to reconnect with the world, but Buffy knew that in time, things would improve. One definite bonus was the possibility of having a short vacation from her slaying duties, before vampires and demons were lured to the Hellmouth. If she was lucky, the remaining demons might spread the word about the contagion, allowing more time for Buffy to be normal, just for awhile.

"We ought to find them," Tara said, her voice hardly audible. "The people wandering around town. We have to find them and help them."

Buffy looked to Spike, who shared her trepidation. Tara didn't know about the ones they'd already tried to help, with less than spectacular results. "Tara..." Buffy began to explain, then stopped, a determined look crossing her face. "You're right. The demons might be mostly gone, but humans can be every bit as dangerous as a demon."

Spike threw a pointed look her way, one that reminded her that the Spike she knew from years past hadn't disappeared completely. She knew he was thinking of their past as vampire and Slayer, but it only reminded her of the night before last. Her gaze tore away, too ashamed to look him in the eye, and she heard him sigh with belabored patience.

She could feel it in her bones--they were going to have another Talk when they got home. With a dismissive shake of her head, she moved on, "So, we'll need to be careful. Tara, you're staying here. Willow, get Xander and Anya and head downtown. Spike, you're with me--we'll take the normal vampire hangouts."

"Hey, what about me?" Dawn asked from her place on the back porch. "I can help."

"You can help by taking care of Tara. She's putting on a good acting job here, but I know she's not at 100 percent, yet." When Dawn looked like she was going to protest, Buffy added, "And I need someone to be here in case something goes wrong."

"Yeah, like that'll happen with me in charge," Dawn replied sourly, which ended up making Buffy smile ruefully. Maybe it was the irony of the statement, or maybe it was the way her sister was sulking over not being thrown into harm's way.

"Trust me, Dawn--if your presence can ward away the possibility of bad things happening, I'm all for it."

This left her puzzling over whether it was a compliment or an insult...which was just enough time to have the gang slip away before she could think to ask.

* * *

Spike and Buffy had checked several warehouses in the outskirts, but found only a handful of people. One was a homeless man, and the others were a former part of a vampire gang that had been attacked by demons after being turned human. They were alive only because the demons had collapsed after decimating most of their group. With assurances that the worst for tonight was over, Spike called a taxi and had the driver take the former vampires to the nearest hospital. Buffy wasn't thrilled at the idea of leaving them alone, but Spike felt that they'd lived through enough for one night--and if the hospital staff could convince them that the memories of being vampires were just hallucinations, maybe they would be better off, in the end.

They then checked out the buildings around the train tracks, but all of them were dark and empty; Sunnydale's prosperous era of warehousing and shipping by train had died around the same time as the rise of the trucking industry. Even with the new Mayor, the warehouses were still being used by the town's demon population. It was only a matter of time before vampires and demons would start to appear, like sparrows returning to Capistrano.

The both of them were ready to call it a night, but Spike decided to check a couple alleys while Buffy searched through the last place, thinking it couldn't hurt to take one last look. He was about to go into one alley when he heard a noise come from another, somewhere behind him.

It sounded like a woman, but he couldn't be sure. With a glance back towards the warehouse Buffy was in, Spike headed forward and called out a clear but soft tone, "Hello? Anyone here?"

He couldn't see anyone, but he could feel something, a buzz under his skin that made his hairs stand on end. He took a few steps farther into the alley, trying to make out anything in the darkness. Then a cool rush of air passed him by, and chilled hands grabbed his neck from behind, pinning him in place.

"You've changed so much, my darling boy. So warm and weak," her voice whispered in his ear, and he felt fear and dread slacken his response. He knew he had to pull away and run, but in the physical and mental grip of his former sire, he found himself trapped. "They told me what happened, the fairies did. But I've come to make it better. You knew I would, didn't you?"

He nodded faintly, remembering the conversation he'd had with Angel in L.A. "Dru..."

"Shh. No talking." Her grip tightened, and he forced down a scream of pain. "I saw her--you were both taking a walk through a field of poppies, white and red like bone and blood. The day didn't last...it never does. Only I can give you forever, Spike."

He felt the yearning, from the part of him that feared death and wanted to be strong and eternally young once again. All he would have to do is say yes, and Drusilla would turn him back. In his mind, however, he knew he would lose more in the end than he'd ever gain as a vampire--Buffy, Dawn, and the group of friends who were finally accepting him as one of them. It wasn't a hard decision, he found to his surprise.

"Don't want forever, Dru. Never did, but you didn't necessarily give me the fine print on that the first time, did you?"

He could sense her shrug at that, and her indifference was more terrifying to him than her grip on his neck. She wasn't concerned about what he wanted, only her own wants and desires mattered now. In desperation, he tried to use his own weight to knock her off her feet, but she was like a brick wall in comparison to his strength. Dru laughed gleefully in his ear, wrapping one arm around him in a tight embrace, and he felt the brush of lip and fang against his neck.

He was about to yell for Buffy, when a sharp crack came from behind him. Dru's grip on him slackened, so Spike took the opportunity and pulled free. He turned around to face Dru, only to find Buffy armed with a discarded length of pipe, while an unconscious Dru was sprawled out on the ground like one of her lifeless dolls.

"You've got fabulous timing, love."

"It's a Slayer thing," Buffy replied simply. "Came with the package, right next to the witty banter and the stylish wardrobe."

Spike looked back at Drusilla, then glanced at the Slayer's choice of weapon. "No stake?"

"I didn't bring one. I know, stupid me. So, um, did you want me to...?" She indicated Drusilla and did a quick, mimed thrust with her fist.

"No! I mean I...hell, I don't know," he said, running a hand through his hair. "We could turn her back."

"To being human? I think we've hit the quota on catastrophic spells for one night."

"I meant the Mohra blood. Straight shot, no chaser or spell involved."

She fidgeted for a second, mulling in over, then blew out a long breath. "I think we better get her back to the Magic Box and have a meeting about this. After what happened tonight, I don't want us screwing up again, in the hope of making things better."

He nodded in agreement, and picked up his former sire, wishing he knew which was the right path. Or whether they were heading entirely in the wrong direction.


	14. Consequences

Title: Ordinary World  
Author: HLynn  
Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. UPDATE - Final Chapter! The Scoobies have to face the results of their actions, and Drusilla's fate is decided.

Author notes: First off, thank you to everyone who's given me encouragement and feedback--all of you have helped spur me on to make this the best story I can write. :) I truly appreciate the time you've taken to let me know how much you've enjoyed the story. Secondly, I've rewritten the Drusilla scenes for Chapters 9 and 11, which had the added benefit of resolving a story problem and making the ending work in a better way. _(What you need to know, in case you didn't check out the revisions:_ Dru was in Alaska and sired a minion to drive her to Sunnydale, rather than coming in via cargo ship.)

* * *

** Chapter 14 - Consequences**

* * *

It was one thing to hear about what had happened to the town--it was another to experience it. As Willow, Xander and Anya checked the streets for survivors and stragglers, it became apparent what the spell had done. Demon corpses were in alleys or whatever they called home, with death a permanent scent in the night air. There was the occasional human body near the demon, always killed violently, which proved Skip correct in the most horrific way possible.

Those they found alive, they tried to help as best they could. The police were also out in force, as were a cluster of black vans and men in suits, hastily cleaning and eliminating any evidence that demon bodies were littering the streets of a normal California suburb. Xander might have cracked a joke about Mulder and Scully finding out the Truth in Sunnydale, if the situation wasn't so grim.

Willow became more and more withdrawn as she saw what her spell had wrought. While she felt the demon deaths were warranted, the grisly method of it and the bodies of their victims convinced her that the ends never justified the means. And the thought of Lorne being a victim of the spell made her shudder--she could only be grateful that he'd known to leave town before the spell had been cast.

They passed by Willy's bar, wondering if maybe some of the turned humans had gone there seeking solace or explanations. The sight that greeted them left them little doubt as to what had occurred.

Willy sat on the curb, his head in his hands in abject despondency. The door was left open mainly because a large demon had expired there, its bulk blocking the doorway. A peek beyond the door gave a clear picture of what had happened, and it made Xander want to run home and never walk outside ever again.

The bartender's eyes rose at their approach, and they could see fear and confusion in his eyes. "You know what's going on, right? You have to know--I mean, one second I've got a jumping joint, and the next there's someone claiming he's a vampire turned human, then hysteria, and the next he's dead and everybody's dropping like flies."

Xander looked to Willow, whose eyes were wide in panic. Anya stepped forward solemnly, her posture showing a humility he wasn't used to seeing from her. Her voice was a pale shadow of its normal strength. "There was a spell...it made the vampires human, and it also killed the demons in town. It wasn't supposed to do that, but it ended up happening anyway. I'm sorry for your loss of clientele and income."

Willy's confusion was swiftly replaced by anger. "Wait a minute--it was you guys? _You_ did this?"

Xander spoke up, "Well, not specifically, but yeah, we kinda were involved."

"It's my fault, I created the spell," Willow added distantly. "I just wanted to turn the vampires back and make Buffy's life easier. I didn't expect..._this_ to happen."

Willy stood up, his face a mask of disgust. "You and your Slayer have always been walking around town like you own it, like demons are just meat sacks with claws and fangs. Now, I'm not saying the demons in my bar were kind and generous folk, but there were a couple in there tonight who didn't deserve to die the way they did. The vampires who were there were older ones...I don't know what happened to them, because they ran out of there screaming and crying their heads off. And now you say you're _sorry._ Well, save the sympathy. This is what you've always wanted, and you got it. Congratulations."

He walked away, shaking his head and muttering into the still night air. They watched him go, saddened and filled with a sense of shame at what the spell had done. Xander quietly suggested heading back to the Magic Box, and the others agreed, keeping to their own thoughts as they walked back to the shop. And trying not to notice how oddly quiet it was, save for the sounds of the vans as the men in suits continued their clean-up, off in the distance.

* * *

Spike and Buffy witnessed the same thing as they headed back with Drusilla in tow, only a handful of hours before sunrise. The occasional person was wandering the street, dazed and filled with a grief they barely understood, but they wouldn't accept any help. One man shied away as Buffy approached him, claiming he was unclean, filthy, unworthy of help or solace. Spike couldn't meet the man's eyes, afraid to witness someone else's self-loathing in case it would trigger the same response in him.

By the time they had chained Drusilla up in the training room, Xander, Willow and Anya were walking through the front door of the Magic Box. They hadn't meant to meet back here, but Buffy was glad for the chance reunion, regardless. She hadn't wanted to go back out there looking for them, not into the eerie calm that was Sunnydale, tonight. When she explained about finding and capturing Drusilla, the reactions were mixed.

Xander was firmly in favor of staking her, bringing up Kendra's death as a reason. Willow was more inclined to use the Mohra blood in turning her human, in the hope that the blood would also cure her insanity. Anya scoffed at both and claimed they had no right to pronounce judgement on any demon, suggesting they set Drusilla free.

Spike sat in watch in the training room as they debated out in the shop, staring at his former sire as she lay unconscious, oblivious to her fate. What would be worse? Staking her and ending the possibility of restoring her to life and sanity? Or turning her human, only to have her put away in an institution for the rest of her life? Neither option held much appeal, and he mulled over the idea of asking Drusilla what she would want. With a shake of his head, he realized the folly of it--she cared about little else than her own whims. Add in her insanity, and he knew she would never give them a straight, coherent answer.

He'd thought bringing Dru to the gang would help clarify the issue, but instead it had only made things worse. No one seemed to be able to come to a decision one way or the other. And now his name was being taken in vain, as Xander tried to argue that Spike had no place in choosing Drusilla's fate.

"Spike's too close to her--if we have to stake her, he won't want to do it."

"I think we ought to ask him that," Buffy replied, her eyes flashing dangerously. Spike couldn't help smiling at the sight of her, all fired up and ready to do battle, if need be.

"It's not fair on him," Willow added, risking a glance Xander's way. "He shouldn't have to decide, not when they were so close. It's something no one should ever have to do."

"The world doesn't care what's fair and what isn't, Will. Leaving him out would be like treating him as a third class Scooby all over again. And it would be ignoring all the changes he's gone through in the past few days."

Anya was mostly silent as they hammered it out, which was an amazing thing to witness. Maybe the spell aftermath had gotten to her more than she cared to admit. He knew the feeling--having been a demon himself not so long ago, it wasn't easy to see those demon corpses lying in the streets and alleys. He might not have liked any of them, but it didn't mean he wished horrible, plague-like deaths on them all, without the ability to fight back at what was killing them, or even know what it was.

As the arguing droned on, the notion of taking the dilemma away began to appeal to Spike more and more. Why not just dump Dru in L.A., and leave her for Angel? Then, reality settled in, and he shook his head at his own stupidity. Dru wasn't going to toddle off without getting what she originally came for.

Of course, that particular someone in L.A. _ought _to be the one making this decision, Spike thought sourly. Angelus had made her, after all, and if Drusilla's prior comments about Darla and herself were true, he'd hardly faced up to his responsibility. Mulling it over, Spike started to feel it as right, a concept that once would have eluded him. Why _were_ they the ones with Dru's fate in their hands? Angel had ditched his past chances, leaving them with a choice that wasn't theirs to make.

Unfortunately, Spike knew the others wouldn't approve. Well, maybe Harris, he amended silently. Still, Buffy would claim it was her job, and the others would fall in line. If there was one thing the Slayer didn't need, it was more responsibility heaped on her thin shoulders.

His mind made up, he jotted off a note explaining things to Buffy as best he could. After pocketing the Mohra blood, he scooped up Dru--chains and all--and headed out the back door. With luck, he could make it to the DeSoto before anyone even noticed he was gone. And if he was really lucky, Buffy wouldn't hand him his head when he got back.

He'd gone a couple blocks when a truck pulled up and stopped just ahead of him. A burly-looking man got out, and the way he glanced at Dru, he knew the fellow was no good. In normal circumstances, he'd assume the guy was a vampire. Spike reminded himself that there was still a good chance that he was.

"Hand her over. Now."

"Why should I? Maybe she wants to be with me."

"Don't think so," the man replied, then his features gave way to the familiar look of a vampire. Spike wished he'd listened to his gut instinct.

"All right, then. You want her? Catch." Spike tossed Dru into the vampire's arms, then pulled out a stake he'd kept, in case of Dru waking too early. He drove the stake into the stunned burly vamp while its arms were preoccupied, and as it disintegrated, Spike snatched Dru's unconscious form back. He allowed himself a slight grin at the idling truck, figuring he might as well use what fate offered him.

* * *

Spike had gotten out of Sunnydale by the time Buffy found the note. It was admittedly terse; "Taking Dru to Angel, so he'll deal with her once and for all. I knew you wouldn't like it anyway, so I didn't ask. Sorry about that. See you soon, Buffy. Love you. --Spike".

Hurt, anger, and worry clamored for position and control of her feelings. Buffy understood the reasons why he'd done what he did, but as Spike had astutely pointed out, she didn't like it one bit. Without knowing how long he'd been gone, however, all that was left was to go home and make sure Tara was all right. Xander and Anya decided to call it a night and headed back to the apartment. As Willow fell into step with her on the way home, she let Buffy know that it was past midnight. The news surprised her--it felt wrong on some level, like the night was crawling and flying by at the same time.

To Buffy's confusion, Spike's DeSoto was still at the house. But then she realized that he might just have taken a taxi, in order to keep his eye on Drusilla. She didn't want to think about him trying to drive to LA alone, with Dru out cold in the backseat, hoping to get there before she woke up.

Both Tara and Dawn were asleep on the couch, the TV still on and tuned to some generic frat boy 80's movie, so they knew the two must have been asleep for quite a while. Buffy gently coaxed Dawn awake, and after a minute of grousing and general unpleasantness, the sleepy teen stumbled up the stairs. Buffy followed closely after, leaving Tara and Willow to hammer out who got the couch. When she heard the front door close a minute later, she thought for the briefest of seconds that Spike had changed his mind and come back...only to realize that Tara had gone back to her dorm room rather than stay the night.

She met Willow in the hallway as she left the bathroom, her friend's face gloomy as she trudged to her room. Buffy could only guess that things had gone from bad to worse. However, Willow didn't want to talk about it, so Buffy let it be.

She could smell the lingering scent of him on the sheets as she crawled into bed, and on the pillow he'd claimed as his. It was silly, she knew, but she was missing him already. Even in spite of the fact that she was still mad at him, and didn't plan on letting him off easy.

Her only comfort was that he knew Dru better than anyone. If he felt confident in taking her there without back-up, then she ought to trust him. Memories of Spike's past lack of judgement rose to mind, but she shoved them down. She _had_ to believe in his survival skills, because she knew she wasn't going to be there to protect him twenty-four hours a day, and she was too acutely aware of what Spike had said to her that first night he was human again.

'I know you, Buffy. The average bloke isn't going to be enough for you.'

She'd proved him wrong thus far--she could only hope that he could prove himself wrong, as well.

* * *

Two hours later, Spike pulled up to the Hyperion hotel, with Drusilla still unconscious and chained to the seat. He knew from prior experience that whenever she got clocked on the head, she was usually out for hours. Even still, he made sure she couldn't budge an inch by taking the chains, pulling them under the seat, and wrapping the chains around her ankles and wrists--her elbows were pinned behind her uncomfortably, bent over the back of the truck's seat in a way that allowed her no leverage. In time she might have figured out a way to get free, but the tire iron he kept under his feet was meant to keep her from doing just that.

He wasn't surprised to see the lights still on, with Angel's business dealings being mainly nocturnal. He parked out front and turned off the ignition, pausing to stare at his former sire. She didn't make a move, which caused him to rethink his plan of unchaining her first. Grabbing the tire iron, he left the driver's side and opened up the passenger door.

She appeared to be completely out, but he couldn't risk the chance of any play-acting. With a quick jerk, he sliced his thumb on a sharp edge of the door and placed the bleeding cut on Drusilla's lips. She made no move to take it, but he noticed her shoulders momentarily flex as if checking herself. Most considered her merely insane, but Spike knew better. Her insanity fueled a deviousness and cunning few would ever see, and her Sight allowed her to plan in advance. Were she a vampire and sane, he didn't think she would be nearly as dangerous.

He pulled his thumb away and pressed down on the gash to slow the bleeding. "I know you're faking, Dru. No use in pretending with me."

Her tongue darted out and licked away the residual blood on her lips. Then she frowned at the taste. "You taste like oranges and lemons. Fruits of the sun, not of darkness," she said, her voice tight with disapproval.

"I brought you to Angel," he replied, ignoring her words. "He's going to take care of you."

"No one can take care of me, not anymore. Grandmummy's gone and you're lost to me. And my daddy doesn't want me."

Her eyes switched from him to over his shoulder, and Spike instantly knew who was behind him. He could feel the presence shift uncomfortably, and he turned around to see Angel staring at them both, a baffled yet curious look on his face.

"I'm seeing it, but I'm not sure I'm believing it. Care to tell me what this is all about?" Angel said at last, glancing back and forth between them.

"This, Angel, is about doing the right thing." Spike pulled out the Mohra blood container and gestured to Drusilla. "She came after me tonight. Thought since you're her sire, if anyone's gonna stake her, it ought to be you. Or, conversely, if anyone planned on turning her human, it also ought to be you."

"What about the spell?"

"Long story short, the spell was a disaster. Tara managed to dispel it before it got outside of Sunnydale, but it still wreaked a fair amount of havoc. It didn't just change vampires to humans, it also killed any demons who came into contact with one of them. Hence, big piles of demon corpses."

Angel's eyes widened in horror. "Lorne, he wasn't--"

"No, he skedaddled. The more sedate, reclusive demons survived, but that's it. And a good number of humans died tonight as well. No one knows how many, but even so, there's a few hundred displaced people in Sunnydale right now. Can't imagine what would've happened if it had gotten out this far."

"I have to admit, it isn't a pretty picture. Does anyone else know you're here?"

"Buffy knows by now, I'm sure. The gang was hashing it out, but I got bored waiting for the verdict since it didn't look forthcoming. Besides, they have enough on their plate tonight as it is."

Angel paused to look at Drusilla, her eyes glistening madly in the faint blue light of the streetlamps above. He remembered the woman she'd once been, before he'd driven her insane. Could he really have the chance to undo what he'd done? Would it even be possible?

"I'll help you bring her inside."

It was the work of a moment to bring Drusilla into the lobby, and soon she was chained to a pillar by the desk, her eyes wide with fright. An old part of Spike hated to see her like this, but he also knew it was necessary. Leaving her as is wasn't an option, and whichever way it went, her terror would be momentary. It was just a matter of waiting for Angel's decision to either give her oblivion, or to restore to her former self.

The whole troupe was there, faces of differing familiarity that would fix on Drusilla, Angel, or Spike as the seconds ticked by. Angel paced the floor, unable to look away at the creature he had created, while Spike wasn't too far away from the door, feeling the need to be anywhere but there. Now that the moment was approaching, for good or ill, it was becoming something to be dreaded.

"So, what's it gonna be?" Cordelia said at last, her patience running out the first. "I understand the whole big sire and...whatever-Drusilla-is-to-you bond, but you're not impressing us, here. We've already seen the brooding up close and personal. And while you two are immortal, the rest of us aren't."

"Cordy, this isn't something to be taken lightly," Angel replied, his jaw set in a fashion Spike had seen many times before. "I'd say the woman I tortured and killed all those years ago deserves that much."

Wesley looked at Angel in surprise. "She's no longer that person, Angel. She's a demon who's killed who knows how many thousands of people. Clearly, our responsibilities lie in one direction."

Spike turned his gaze in disdain to the former Watcher. "We can turn her back, you ninny. There's no clear cut way for us here, as much as you'd like to think so."

"I think..." Fred trailed off weakly, then summoned her courage and continued, "I think we ought to make her whole again. Make her human, I mean. I know how hard it is, adjusting to environments and being crazy for a little while, so I think I could help her."

"How's that?" Gunn chimed in from his place on the steps. "She's not just a little crazy, she's _insane_. You put all that soul-crushing guilt on her, and she'd snap like a pretzel."

"No offense, Fred, but I believe Gunn has a point," Wesley said, his unease with contradicting her displayed on his face. "In addition to her madness, she has visions. We know how badly they affected Cordelia until recently, but have no idea whether Drusilla would be able to tolerate it, in her weakened mental state. It's too risky."

"It's not," Angel answered quietly, standing still as he watched Drusilla sag against the pillar. "She's stronger than that."

"And exactly _how_ do you know this?" Cordy replied, her arms crossed. "She's looking pretty snappable to me."

"She wasn't insane when I turned her--that only came afterwards. It's always been semantics up until now, but even though she was horrified and terrified, she was still there. It was the turning that finished it. Being human...it would erase what I did. She could be whole again."

"Those are some rather dicey conclusions," Wesley said warily. "She could also be insane for the rest of her natural life."

"I gave her death, so I should be the one to give her life, again. I have to take the chance. I can't...I can't let this be her end." His eyes pleaded for mercy, both for her and for himself.

Spike nodded solemnly in agreement, knowing it wasn't an easy choice. Neither would have been easy to live with, but Drusilla as dust was a momentary sadness--what Angel had chosen involved commitment. Strangely enough, he found that he approved.

Angel held out a hand for the Mohra blood, and Spike handed it to him with no hint of ritual or indecision. No words were spoken as he walked over to Dru, whose eyes stared at the vial with the alertness of a mouse in the presence of a large cat.

"It glows and burns," Dru murmured, "like the sun. But there's no warmth there...it's false."

Fingering the small dagger in his hand, Angel kneeled down and looked her in the eye. "I'm not going to leave you again. I hope you know that."

"Daddy?" she asked in a small, hopeful voice.

"No. Not Daddy. But hopefully, maybe someday, a friend who helped you." With that, he cut a small incision into her upper arm, and she hissed in pain and pleasure. As he poured some of the demon blood onto the cut, his gaze shifted from the wound to her face, waiting for the first sign of it taking hold.

Green light bloomed, then swirled and danced around her; it was a scene Spike remembered from being on the other side. Drusilla gasped in shock, and her eyes widened as she stared at the room in horror. Angel quickly undid the chains and stepped out of her line of sight, clearly afraid that seeing him might make things worse.

Fred headed over to Drusilla first, with Cordy trailing behind in concern. "It's okay, you're safe now. We're going to take care of you."

Spike marveled at the way Dru seemed to respond to Fred, the crazed look in her eyes softening at the other woman's words. He felt his chest tighten as he realized it was finally over. For better or worse, she was human now, and he was no longer a part of her life. The thought was bittersweet, as he'd known that Buffy was his future for some time.

As the two women helped Drusilla to her feet and guided her to someplace comfortable, he drifted over to the door, but Angel stopped him before he could escape.

"I'm glad you brought her here. I know I wasn't thrilled when I saw her, but you were right; I needed to deal with this. Just...don't let Buffy know I said you were right, okay? Tell her I treated you badly and kicked you out of the hotel."

"And why would I do that?"

"So she hates me instead of you when you get back," Angel replied, smiling slowly. Spike's grin faded when he realized the big goof was right--Buffy's wrath would need all the deflecting he could get.

The good-byes were brief as Spike left, most of the gang unsure whether or not they were glad to see him go. As he got into the truck, the surreal events of the night caught up with him, and he leaned heavily into the back of the seat, allowing it to keep him upright. If it weren't for the cut on his thumb, he would swear that he'd dreamed the entire thing, right down to the strangely friendly demon named Skip and the concept of Harmony being able to find out their plans.

Summoning the last of his energy, he turned the ignition and soon was making his way back to the town that had given him so much grief, and so much happiness.

* * *

The sound of the door closing jolted Buffy out of her doze, her worry unable to let her completely fall asleep. With a certainty she couldn't describe, she knew it was Spike. Maybe it was the footfalls on the stairway, or the way the floor creaked just so when he walked by the bathroom, but she could tell that not only was it him, but he was trying his best not to be noticed.

She decided to let him think he was getting away with it, for the moment. The clothes hit the floor with nary a comment from her, and she fought against the tilting sensation as he snuck into bed. His arm draped over her waist, drawing her closer, reassuring her with his warmth and touch. It wasn't until she could sense him settling into the pillow that she ended the charade.

"Have fun while you were in LA?"

He stiffened, then she heard a long, disappointed exhale. "Knew it was too good to be true."

She turned around to face him, not minding _too_ much that his arm was still there. "Why don't you tell me what possessed you to think you could handle Drusilla alone? Wait, never mind...thinking obviously wasn't involved in that plan."

"I was careful, love. And I came back, all safe and sound. You didn't come running after me, so you couldn't have been too worried."

"I was worried enough," Buffy said, hating that her voice sounded so petulant. "Although, I'll confess you're an _eensy_ bit right on the not running after you. When the hysteria and the anger wore off some, I had to believe that you knew what you were doing--because if I didn't, I'd go nuts imagining every nasty scenario in the book."

"I won't ever do that to you again, I promise," he replied, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, pal. I know you better than that, and while you mean well...I think we both know that living in Sunnydale is not the place to be if you're trying to stay alive. You need to be able to take care of yourself, without me around as the muscle girl."

"So, you're saying that you're willing to let me fight my own battles, as it were?"

"Yes, essentially. But that's not a license to go trolling through the alleys with an axe," she said sternly, and gave him the matching look to go with it.

He didn't seem to notice, since he grinned with enthusiasm. "Well, you're taking this better than I expected."

"Believe me, I've had some time to cool down. You should've seen me when I got the note."

"Can't say I'm sorry for missing it," he said, then his countenance turned serious. "Buffy...Angel made the decision tonight."

The comment caught her off-guard--she hadn't expected him to decide so quickly. "What--what did he say? What happened?"

He paused to find the words, looked up at the ceiling as if searching for inspiration, then sighed. "Dru's human."

He must've taken her stare as encouragement, because he continued at length to explain about Angel's plan to take care of her, and how they hoped to bring her back to sanity. "If they pull it off, it'll be a miracle."

"Was it the right thing to do, though?"

"Don't know for sure, but it felt right. I don't regret taking her there, and Angel was glad I did."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." He paused, thought for a second, then continued with a gleam in his eye, "He even told me I was right, but he didn't want you to know. Told me to say that I was treated poorly and tossed out on my ass."

"And he said this _why_, exactly?"

"So you'd feel sorry for me. But I wouldn't lie to you that way."

"Oh no, of course not," Buffy replied dryly. "And you wouldn't be telling me this in order to make Angel look bad--perish the thought!"

He came the closest to a pout that she'd ever seen from him. Unable to take the sight of him looking so pathetic, she let out a short laugh and kissed the pout away. Several moments and gropings later, Buffy pulled back in an attempt to regain some breath and dignity.

"I'm still mad at you, y'know."

"I know," he said, rubbing her thigh in an awfully suggestive pattern.

"What you did was very, very stupid, and you're lucky to be alive. But I'm glad you're alive, and that you proved yourself wrong, in the end."

He frowned in confusion. "How's that?"

"You said I wouldn't be satisfied with an average guy, but I am. You also said you felt helpless, but I don't see a helpless guy in front of me. You're street-smart, intelligent, knowledgeable about demons and magic, and you can defend yourself in a fight. The only thing you need is a self-defense lesson or two on using human strength against vampire strength."

His look of awe and gratitude while she'd spoken had now faded into a simple, raised eyebrow. "I take it those lessons would be provided by you?"

"Naturally," she replied. "I promise I'll be gentle."

"Ooh, that was payback, wasn't it?" His grin softened the words into a tease. "Think you can take me on?"

"I know I can. And I'm not afraid to try. Not anymore."

She could see her words sinking in, the meaning of it taking hold in his eyes. There was relief there, but also hope--it was likely the first time he had allowed himself to indulge himself in thinking beyond the moment, to a future he hadn't dared to imagine.

Then there were no more words for awhile, and neither of them minded too much about that.

* * *

End.

* * *


End file.
